A Few Home Truths
by KatZen
Summary: Holidays. They're meant to be easy to enjoy, right? Unless you have Gordon with you. Or you're a Tracy; simply because the word 'easy' doesn't exist in your vocabulary. In fact, it's more important to use a holiday to uncover a few home truths.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. The original characters come from my imagination, and have appeared in some of my other works. I am pretty sure that my imagination belongs to me, unless it runs wild and becomes a law unto itself.**

**AN: This piece of writing is not my fault. It is the fault of my not-so-imaginary friend, Bunbury (not his real name - just an immensely private person who's a fan of Oscar Wilde), after a lengthy discussion of our favourite Field Commander as a grumpy teenager on holiday with any two pesky little brothers. A challenge set by him, and accepted by me. I hope I've done our convo justice...**

**If you squint, it is a vague follow on from the last chapter of 'Yin and Yang'. If you squint real hard. But I think it could be read without having read the previous story.**

A Few Home Truths

The sun was shining down on the golden sands of the beach; the ocean sparkled like sapphires under the sun, and a nineteen year old scowled behind his aviator shades into the ocean, conveniently ignoring his companion.

"I'm telling you, Scott, it could be worse," his companion pointed out, somewhat unhelpfully. "You could have been left to babysit John and Virgil as well, instead of your Dad allowing them heading to the Kennedy Space Centre."

Scott merely grunted, and his scowl deepened. "This is not what I wanted over the summer. This time was meant to be for just us. Just the two of us in Fort Lauderdale. Like our getaway in the midst of madness. A snapshot of our life before we settle into the mundane task of couple living at Yale while surviving on instant noodles."

"I know."

"I mean, Tash, we've been going out for almost three years now, albeit long distance for a year. You've seen me at my worst, and you put up with my family on a regular basis, not because you have to, but because you want to, which makes me think that this is the real deal. Is it so wrong of me to want to take you on a vacation with just me and without my family?"

"No –"

"Then why is it so hard?" Scott fumed, turning to face the auburn haired woman while thumping a hand on the sand. "The time we were planning on seeing Mount Rushmore, or what about when we had planned to visit New York for a week? There was always an issue that meant we had to cancel."

"Scott –"

"Either Dad was away, or Grams wasn't in Kansas, and it was left to me to watch over them! Now, this time, Dad has a series of conferences here and he decided to turn it into a family vacation. So guess who becomes the glorified babysitter! We had this planned a lot longer than Dad had his business trip scheduled. And you know what makes it worse is that he knew that, and he still insisted on this anyway!"

"Scott –"

"I mean, it's not like they're little kids anymore. They're perfectly capable of looking after themselves in Kansas for a few days!"

"Scott!"

"What?"

"Okay, first of all, when you're in this mood, you're kind of killing the whole romance-on-the-beach holiday vibe. Let's face it; you're not exactly a bucket of fun right now. Secondly, us having a holiday to ourselves would be too easy, and we've never had it easy. Thirdly, I accepted all of this a long time ago; from our first date to be precise, and I really don't mind." Scott looked ready to interrupt, but Tash silenced him by placing her hand over his mouth.

"No. You listen. You've had your chance to rant and rave like a lunatic. Now it's my turn. You Tracy boys are a package deal; you buy the one you want, and you'll get four extras to deal with. Some would consider this excess baggage; I prefer to think of it as a bonus. And finally, Gordon and Alan aren't in visible sight anymore, so I suggest that you go and look for them before one of them accidentally drowns, because I would hate to be the one who has to explain that to your father this evening."

Scott pulled off his shades and cursed under his breath as he realised that his girlfriend was right. "I told them to stay in sight!"

"And you thought they'd listen?"

"Not helping." Despite his complaints, Scott knew that he was still duty bound to look after his little brothers. He also knew that he would never have been able to forgive himself if something happened to them because he wasn't fulfilling his role as a big brother by looking out for them.

"Okay," he said, after scanning the waters once more. "You stay here, just in case they come back. I'll pace the promenade and see if they're there. If I don't spot them in fifteen minutes, I'll come back here, and we'll work out what to do from there."

Scott made to move, long, purposeful strides dragging him away from the sandy banks to the paved walkway, but his girlfriend called him back.

"Here." She thrust a small bundle at him. It was a small first aid pack she had comprised, containing plastic strips, antiseptic wipes, a pocket torch, and an inflatable support splint. "Just in case they need it. Now go!"

Tucking the first aid pack into the corner of his board shorts, Scott broke into a run, desperate to find the two little trouble makers he was unfortunate enough to call little brothers.

* * *

><p>"Come on, Gordy," fourteen year old Alan pleaded, shaking the redhead's shoulders. "Wake up!"<p>

Gordon did not stir.

"Gords, c'mon. Scott's gonna freak when he realises we're missing! You gotta get up so we don't suffer from a fate worse than death!" Alan looked around his surroundings. It was completely, and unusually, isolated. There was no help available to the frenzied fourteen year old, and there was no reception for his portable vid-phone either. From his vantage point, Alan could make out the occupants on the beach. More importantly, he could spot help.

"Listen, Gordon, I'm gonna have to leave you for a bit, so I can get some help. I'll be back for you soon. It's gonna be okay, do you hear me? It's gonna be okay."

Casting another helpless look around, Alan left his brother and broke into a run, retracing the steps Gordon and he had taken less than an hour ago.

* * *

><p>Scott had almost given up hope. During his search, he had spied many people, but he had not seen the two people he wanted. "C'mon, guys, where are you?"<p>

He stopped pacing to gather his bearings.

"If I was a fifteen year old, with a younger brother in tow, where would I go?"

It really didn't matter. What Scott would do as a fifteen year old and what Gordon would do were two vastly different things. Scott couldn't guarantee that Gordon – the thrill seeker – hadn't landed himself in something dangerous, or life threatening.

A quick glance at his watch; he had been searching for ten minutes. It was time for him to head back and employ further reinforcements in his search-and-rescue campaign.

A shrill screech broke into his thoughts. He could have sworn he heard his name. Turning and shielding his eyes from the sun, Scott spotted Alan running towards him.

"Alan!" he yelled. "Where the hell's Gordon?"

Alan, too out of breath to answer, instead pulled on his eldest brother's hand and led him away. "Gotta… come…," he puffed in between breaths. "Quick… Gordon… hurt."

And those words were enough to elevate the panic Scott felt into sheer terror.

* * *

><p>Gordon Tracy, the copper topped fifteen year old, lay still and motionless as his saviours came to his aid.<p>

"Gordon," Alan immediately cried out, "I'm sorry. I don't hate you; I didn't mean to push you."

Gordon lay statue still. Alan wondered briefly if Gordon could hear him.

"Okay, Alan, tell me exactly what happened," Scott ordered. Memories of a first aid course he took came flooding back to him, and he began checking Gordon.

"So, you know how we were swimming in the water?" Alan waited for confirmation from Scott before he continued. "Well, he wanted to go diving off the rocks and I didn't, coz Dad told us not to. He then started calling me chicken, because I wouldn't do it, so I turned to walk away from him. I just wanted to be alone, but he kept on following me to taunt me."

Scott nodded. This did sound like Gordon. Gordon hadn't quite managed to draw the line between brotherly teasing and hurtful comments. He hadn't curbed the malicious streak that existed within him.

"So we were on the boardwalk and he grabbed my arm, demanding to know where I was going. He wouldn't let go, no matter how many times I told him to, so I had to push him off of me. I didn't know he would trip over his own leg on the way down." Alan looked up fearfully at Scott. "You're mad at me, aren't you, Scott? So just go ahead and yell at me."

"That's not my priority right now, Alan," Scott murmured, peering into Gordon's eyes with the torch. Gordon's pupils were unequal in size. "How long has he been out for?"

Alan glanced at the watch on Scott's wrist. "About twenty-five minutes."

"What?" Scott stopped, shocked. "You left Gordon like this for twenty minutes before seeking help? Do you know how fucking irresponsible that is?"

Alan waited for the reprimand that never came.

"Priorities, Scott, priorities," the brunette muttered to himself. He fished his vid-phone out of his pocket, relieved to find that he had a weak signal on it. "Call an ambulance, then Dad, and then the others. Don't deviate from that order. And, Alan, I _will_ tear strips into you later for this!"

As Alan moved to make the calls, Scott rolled Gordon over into the recovery position. "Come on, Gordo, wake up for your big brother. Wake up, dammit."

Gordon didn't wake up.

"The ambulance should be here soon," Alan informed Scott. "I left a message on Dad's voicemail. John and Virg said that they were leaving the Space Centre and could be back here within two hours."

"And Tash?"

"Said she'd see you back at the hotel whenever you get there."

"Good." Scott checked Gordon's pulse. He sighed in relief at the strong, steady beat that pounded beneath his fingers. "Now, where is that damn ambulance?"

* * *

><p>Time ticked by agonisingly slowly. John had carefully sped with Virgil back down to Fort Lauderdale within two and a half hours from the Space Centre, and were now seated in an uncomfortable waiting room.<p>

"Okay, tell me exactly what happened," Virgil stated, unknowingly echoing Scott.

"I told you exactly what happened," Scott growled, his face buried into his hands. "Three times, in fact."

"It's just… how can one little push leave Gordon in an operating theatre?" Virgil asked rhetorically.

"Virg, I don't know."

"I mean, he's a fit and healthy guy. And we've shoved him around before, and nothing like this has ever happened."

"Virg, I don't know."

"There has to be something more to this," Virgil continued. He pressed Scott for more information until Scott reached his breaking point.

"Virgil, for the last time, I wasn't there; I don't know!"

The room fell back into an uneasy silence. John sat next to Alan, who was curled up into himself. Virgil had moved away from his seat, standing defiantly opposite Scott, glaring at him with his arms crossed over his chest. Scott collapsed back into a chair, head once more seeking refuge in his hands.

"Dad's going to kill me," Alan murmured into his t-shirt.

"No, he won't. He'll aim for my jugular," Scott reassured his little brother. "After all, I was the one who was meant to keep two eyes on you at all times."

"But Gordon and I ran away without telling you where we were going," Alan protested. "You can't be blamed for that."

"Speaking of," John piped up, raking a hand through his hair, "when is Dad going to join us?"

Scott shrugged.

"I'll give him a call, see where he is." Virgil left the room to make the call.

* * *

><p>Jeff Tracy was terrified. This wasn't how he envisioned his business trip unfolding. Out of the week he was spending here, four days were reserved so he could deal with his business. The next three were purposefully left empty, so he could spend some time with his boys. In the grand scheme of things, his plan had become redundant.<p>

He burst into the waiting room to see his boys scattered around. Alan immediately ran up to him, throwing his considerable body weight into Jeff's arms, mumbling the words 'I'm sorry" into his conservative, grey suit.

"Dad," John leapt out of his seat. "What've they told you? Is Gordon out yet? When can we see him?"

"Not yet, John. I didn't really understand what the doctors were telling me, but from what I heard, the pressure has been building up slowly in his brain, so they want to keep him under just until it settles."

John sat back down.

"How did this happen, Scott?" Jeff directed the question to his eldest, the person he entrusted the safety of his younger sons to.

Honesty, Scott decided, was the best policy here, even though it would hurt. "Having only heard Alan's side, I'm not entirely sure, Dad. I wasn't exactly present when this happened."

"Excuse me?" Jeff's voice lowered to a dangerously soft tone. "You weren't there when it happened?"

"No, sir," Scott replied quietly, eyes trained on the ground.

"Then, _where_ exactly were you? Frolicking around on the beach?"

Alan pulled away from his father. It was crunch time. He couldn't let Scott take the blame for this. No way was that going to happen.

"Dad, I need to tell you something," Alan confessed.

"Later, Alan. This is more important."

Feeling the guilt that had welled up inside of him increase tenfold, Alan fell silent. Even though his conscience nagged at him to tell Jeff the full story, Alan knew that interrupting him when he had specifically told him not to would be like poking a Bengal tiger with a stick. It just wasn't recommended.

"Scott, I left you in charge of your brothers because I _thought_ you were mature enough to be responsible for their welfare."

"I am!" Scott asserted, clearly referring to the innumerable times it had been left to him to watch over his brothers while their father went off on an unavoidable business trip. Or the times before that, when Scott, with the help of John, had been left to manage the day-to-day running of the Tracy household while Jeff buried himself in work to cope with the loss of his wife.

"Really? Are you? Because it seems to me that if you held the best interests of your brothers in such high regard, Gordon wouldn't be on the operating table, with holes being drilled into his head to relieve pressure from his brain. When I ask you to watch out for your little brothers, I expect you to follow through with that." Jeff sighed, raked his hand through his hair before he delivered his ace. "How am I supposed to be able to trust you with the responsibility of looking after your brothers, if they're going to end up in hospital?"

Scott let out a humourless laugh as he moved towards the door. Stung, infuriated and hurt by Jeff's loss of faith in him, Scott's reply was scathing, to say the least. "You, of all people, want to talk to me about responsibilities? Well, maybe you should try being at home once in a while to have some instead of gallivanting all over the country!"

In the stunned silence that followed the confrontation, no one realised that Scott had left the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. The original characters come from my imagination, and have appeared in some of my other works. I am pretty sure that my imagination belongs to me, unless it runs wild and becomes a law unto itself.**

**AN: Thank you so much for the kind reviews. I'm sorry I wasn't able to reply to all of them, (in the limited time I have this week, it was a toss up between chapter writing and responding, and I figured you'd appreciate a new chapter more), but each and every one was greatly encouraging and motivating. They really mean a lot to me. Really. **

Chapter Two

Angered, hurt and bewildered by Jeff's words, Scott sat on the edge of the bed in the hotel room he was staying in, staring morosely out of the window. The waves had turned furious and tumultuous, just to match his mood.

"Scott?"

Scott cracked a knuckle, not trusting himself to speak. His brain wasn't functioning as well as he would have liked it to, and he was worried that he might unintentionally drive away the few people who could make him feel marginally better now. Instead, he spared the auburn haired woman a glance, one conveying the pain and anger he felt, before turning to stare out of the window once more.

"Scott," she knelt behind him, wrapped her arms around him, murmured her words against the side of his neck. "Don't do this to yourself. It was an accident. Accidents happen. You know that."

"It wasn't an accident. It was my fault," Scott countered, voice scratchy with guilt. "I was pissed off at having to look after them. I didn't give them one hundred per cent of my attention. I took my eyes off them for ten freaking minutes, and I didn't know where the hell they went. So don't give me that bull about it not being my fault, because it was."

"Hey, I'm not saying you're entirely blameless in this situation," Tash agreed, moving to sit beside him. She took hold of his hands, turned his head and trained his eyes on hers. "Yes, they weren't supervised for a period of time, and that is _our_ fault, because I was there to help you. So, if it makes you feel better, blame yourself, in part, for that. But it is _not _your fault that Alan and Gordon left without informing you of where they were going. They have enough common sense between them to have thought of letting you know that they were leaving, so that you had some idea of their location. That is _their_ fault. And as for teasing Alan, that is Gordon's doing. Not Alan's and certainly not yours. Alan pushing Gordon so that he collapsed to the ground, and then not seeking help immediately cannot be blamed on you either; that's Alan's culpability."

Well, put that way, Scott began to realise that the entire debacle was multifactorial. It didn't alleviate the guilt, though. It probably never would. He would keep on beating himself up over this until his dying day.

"But it was still irresponsible of me to neglect watching them."

"But when you found them, Scott, you did the responsible thing by getting help. That should count for something, because your actions could have helped in saving Gordon's life."

There were times when Scott really, really loved his girlfriend's pragmatic and logical view of the world. This was one of them.

"Now, how about you head over to the hospital and see Gordon?" Tash suggested, shunting him off the bed to get him standing.

Scott held his hand out to her, an open invitation. She accepted, allowing the muscular man to haul her upright.

"Not tonight," he said, pulling her closer into him a notch. At her questioning look, he elaborated. "Dad's there, and right now, I wouldn't approach him with an infinite foot long pole. Tomorrow, baby. I'll take you too, because I know Gordy'll want to see you at some point anyway." Scott sighed, low and heavy. "That's if I'm trusted to be responsible enough to spend some time with my little brother."

* * *

><p>Gordon awoke – finally – to a darkened room. Blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light – or lack thereof – he counted four shadows in the room. Mentally, he listed his family members.<p>

"Dad?" he groaned.

Jeff grabbed Gordon's hand. Checked one off the list.

Squinting into the background, Gordon could make out a shorter form – Alan – and two taller ones. Their height and build of the shadows matched the dimensions of Virgil and John, leading Gordon to assume that Scott was the one that was missing. There was no sign of his 6'2" brother skulking around in the corner of the room.

"Where… Scott?"

"Scott isn't here right now," Jeff explained softly, not willing to go through the ins and outs of the argument. "Just relax now, Gordon. Everything's gonna be alright. Dad's here for you."

Jeff reached over Gordon's body and felt around for the call switch, alerting medical staff to Gordon's lucid state.

"I want Scott," Gordon muttered, tugging his hand out of Jeff's grasp. "I want Scott here when they tell me what happened."

"Gordon," John began, hoping to save his father and brother some face. But Gordon was having none of it.

"I want Scott," he repeated adamantly, albeit tiredly.

"Virgil, would you…?"

"Sure thing, Dad." A moment's pause. "Not answering."

Jeff frowned. To him, not answering a phone call from a family member in times of crisis was akin to high treason. Another strike against Scott's level of responsibility.

"Dad, this is Scott we're talking about. The man bears grudges for a long time. Just give him a few hours to cool off. He'll call when he's ready," John pointed out, stifling a yawn under his hand. "In the meantime, I'll take Virgil and Alan back with me to the hotel suite for some sleep. We'll all be better for it."

Protests raged over the room, as each brother expressed their desire to stay with Gordon. Jeff held up a hand to silence them. "Good thinking, John. Alright, boys, you heard your brother. Back to the suite. John'll bring you back to see Gordy tomorrow."

As he shooed his boys out of the door, Jeff briefly wondered how he would fix things up with Scott, especially as he heard Virgil murmur to John. Straining his ears, he could just make out the conversation.

"Dad was out of line with those comments, wasn't he, John?"

"I can see where he's coming from, but he was way off base with that. Let's hope he hasn't done lasting damage, because I really don't know how to pick up the pieces from this."

* * *

><p>The sun rose steadily, shining through the blinds in the hospital room. Gordon stirred, grimacing against the strength of the light. Craning his head, despite the fact that it made him feel like he was on the teacup ride at the fair, he noted that his father had fallen asleep in the visitor's chair. Jeff's chin rested on his knuckles, and his neatly pressed business suit now resembled the skin of an elephant, with wrinkles and creases all over it.<p>

Swallowing against his dry mouth, Gordon reached over to the bedside table for a glass of water, quietly, so he wouldn't disturb Jeff. He was out of luck. Instead, he had managed to push the glass out of reach, until it fell off the table and crashed to the floor. Jeff winced and groaned as he woke up, his paternal instinct kicking in once his brain registered the noise.

"What do you need, Gordon?" he asked, rubbing sleepy dust out of his eyes.

"Water," Gordon rasped.

"Stay here. I'll get you some," Jeff said, stretching the kinks out of his body. A few moments later, he reappeared with a glass of ice chips in his hand. "The nurses wouldn't let me give you fluids, just in case there's a pressure spike and you need to go under again. I've got ice chips, though."

Gordon didn't care. He just wanted something that would soothe his throat so that he didn't feel like he was suffering from acid reflux. Jeff sat back down beside Gordon, slowly feeding him chips of ice at regular intervals.

"Dad," Gordon ground out sluggishly. "I wanna talk to Scott."

Jeff wordlessly held out the portable vid phone. He wanted to talk to Scott too, more than anything, although he knew that Scott would still be unwilling to communicate. It seemed unlikely that Scott would answer, once he saw that Jeff was the caller displayed on the caller ID. Even though it really wasn't Jeff calling, Scott wouldn't know that, and he would most likely ignore the call. That, or he was just asleep. It was only six in the morning, according to his wristwatch.

"Not answering," Gordon said, eyes downcast.

Jeff thought as much. "I'm sorry, Gordy," he murmured, knowing that it was his fault.

Gordon, on the other hand, was more perceptive than people gave him credit for. Narrowing his amber eyes, he directed his question to Jeff, without saying a word.

"Don't worry, son," Jeff reassured not only his read head son, but himself as well. "Your brother and I have had a slight disagreement, but we'll work it out soon enough. And no, it wasn't your fault."

Gordon raised one eyebrow. _You'd better work this out, because I wanna see my brother._

* * *

><p>Morning had dawned, but Scott Tracy did not seem to notice. Instead, he sat cross-legged on the foot of the bed, watching <em>World's Worst<em> _Air Disasters_ with a half-eaten, family sized tub of ice-cream and gummy bears. As tired as he was, he hadn't managed to catch any sleep. He worried over Gordon's condition, and he agonised over the fact that he had essentially landed Gordon in hospital. He groaned inwardly every time his father tried to initiate contact with him. Didn't the man understand that Scott didn't want to hear about his inadequacies as a big brother? It had reached the point where Scott had ended up stuffing the phone into a sock and then stuffing the sock into the dark recess of a suitcase, to muffle the noise of an incoming call. It was easier to ignore them that way. Retrospectively, he supposed it would have been simpler to just turn the phone off, but Scott wasn't known for thinking rationally when he was livid.

"Scott, did you get any sleep last night?"

So, his lack of sleep was that obvious.

"Are you… comfort eating?" The question sounded incredulous. "And I thought only PMS-ing women did that."

Great. This was just great, Scott bitched internally. The one person he thought would understand seemed to be mocking him. The bottomless pit he called his stomach growled in discontentment, demanding to be fed some more. "Well, you thought wrong," he muttered, shoving a heaped spoon of Neapolitan ice-cream into his mouth. "And what's it to you if I am? I'm miserable; I think that's grounds for consuming a family sized tasty treat."

"Scott, you look terrible, and you sound worse. It's six in the morning. Please, just come back to bed for two hours. Then you'll be in a better frame of mind to visit Gordon."

"Can't sleep. Too wired. Plus, all the ice-cream would melt, and that would make it a waste of money."

The auburn haired woman sighed, unwilling to take no for an answer. "Well, the only one that's gonna suffer in the long run is you and your gummy tummy." She snatched the ice-cream tub away from him, much to his unhappiness.

Knowing he was beat, Scott crawled back up to the pillows and slid under the crisp, white sheets. "You know I won't be getting any sleep, Tash. You know that," he warned.

"Then just try to relax, because all this worrying is not good for you."

"Fine. I've probably already developed a stomach ulcer over this, but fine." A thought struck him. "What about the ice-cream?"

A shared look between them that spoke volumes. A plethora of emotions conveyed in the briefest of glances.

"Fine," Scott huffed, rolling onto his side. "You can eat the rest of it."

A fine, raised eyebrow. A beat of silence. Understanding, common ground, on the part of both parties involved.

"Wait," Scott drawled, rolling once again to face her, languid smile forming for the first time that week. "Let me guess; that wasn't what you had in mind."

"Actually, it wasn't. But, I have no objections to your idea either…"

* * *

><p>John Tracy practically dragged the other towhead of the family by the hair down the hospital corridor. In fact, it was with such brute force, he wasn't too surprised when a few strands of hair lay in his hands.<p>

"Ow!" Alan shrieked, skirting away from John as fast as possible. "That hurt!"

John rolled his cornflower blue eyes and ran a hand through his unusually uncombed platinum blond hair. "Well, if you'd stop behaving like a five year old, and come here willingly, I wouldn't have to treat you in such a manner!" he retorted hotly.

"Yeah, Al," Virgil agreed. "What is up with you today? Last night we couldn't get you away from Gordy. Now we can't get to him. What's going on?"

Alan shied away further, retracing the path he had been forcibly dragged up. His brothers wouldn't understand. He could drive them away from his side with the knowledge he possessed. He couldn't afford to lose that, not with a confrontation with his father and Scott looming over him. The fourteen year old sighed. It appeared that he had drawn the short straw in this situation, as he hadn't thought about the consequences to his actions. Like most other things that happened, he was hoping to get away with it because he was the youngest of the lot.

"Alan?" John prompted, eyes flashing, steel like. He closed in, sealed off all paths of escape. Virgil rounded on Alan too. Not quite as tall as John, not quite as intimidating, but still enough of a force to be reckoned with.

"It's my fault Gordon's in here!" Alan eventually blurted out, caving under the weight of his guilt. "I was the one that pushed him too hard so he fell on his own sword… well, leg. I was the one that waited twenty minutes before seeking help. So, if anyone's to blame, it's me."

Stunned silence.

"Right. Well, then, in light of this startling new revelation," John began; voice several million degrees below freezing, "I think you'll be punished enough when you tell Dad all of this. You are _not_ letting Scott get blamed for this. _I_ will make sure that does not happen."

Alan nodded morosely.

"First thing when we walk into that hospital room, Alan," Virgil added menacingly. "You are not getting out of it. Understand?"

Alan nodded again. He searched his brothers' faces, looking for answers to the question he had. _Step up, and cop the punishment like a man. You're a Tracy; now start acting like one._

Stepping up, exactly what was expected of him, Alan strode down the corridor and marched into Gordon's room, prepared to take the bawling out session scheduled for him, like the man he knew he wasn't.

* * *

><p>The sound was muffled, but the three Tracy boys inside the hospital could still detect Jeff Tracy's irate tone overriding Alan's solemn one.<p>

"They're really going at it, aren't they?" Virgil remarked mildly, not peering up from the medical brochure he was reading.

Gordon, fast asleep, snored softly in response

"Dad's giving him both barrels of the shotgun, little bro. Gordy, you really should be awake for this," Virgil continued, as though having a one-sided conversation was something he did on a daily basis. "I mean, this is probably the only time two people will ever fight over you. Pity they're not of the female variety, know what I'm saying?"

John couldn't suppress his snort of laughter in time. "Like any female would willingly squabble over him. I'd be worried about their mental sanity if they were interested in him."

Gordon snored again.

"John, that's cruel," Virgil berated. "Accurate, but cruel." He buried his head back in the medical brochure, fascinated by the medical jargon in there. Maybe, he mused to himself, the information his brain was absorbing would be useful.

The door to the room opened, and both brothers looked up, expecting to see Jeff and Alan walk back in. No chance; Jeff was still verbally shooting Alan down to the size of a pip. The words 'responsible', 'brother' and 'old enough to know better' were incredibly audible, and repeated often.

"Not interrupting anything, are we?" Scott asked, closing the door quietly behind him. Gordon stirred, turning his head to Scott's voice, but he did not wake.

"Nah," John dismissed with a wave of his hand. Doing the gentlemanly thing, he vacated his chair and offered it to Tash. "Just in time to watch Sleeping Beauty catch up on his beauty sleep."

"John," Scott sighed, wondering why he had to explain this to the supposedly smart Tracy of the bunch. "No amount of beauty sleep could help him. That ship has long set sail."

"He is okay, though, isn't he?" Tash asked, unknowingly voicing Scott's concerns.

"According to the doctor, he's fine," Virgil supplied. "I took a look at his charts, but none of it made much sense to me. All I could gather was that he's to be kept nil-by-mouth for at least twenty four hours after the surgery. Maybe you could put some of those pre-med skills to use, and make some sense of it," Virgil suggested, passing the relevant data pad to her.

Scott, meanwhile, wedged himself between the mattress and the lowered railing of the hospital bed. It was extremely painful, but he was willing to sacrifice his comfort in order to talk to Gordon.

"Hey, Gordo," Scott said. "Yeah, you heard it right. I'm calling you fat in Spanish. Better wake up and tell me to stop it. Actually, you'd better wake up, coz I have something I want to say to you, and I really need you to hear it."

Gordon blinked. There was something in Scott's voice; urgency, regret and sorrow, things Gordon hadn't heard in a long time. It compelled him to open his eyes, become fully aware of his surroundings and pay attention to what his eldest brother had to say.

"Gordon, I'm sorry. I'm your big brother, and dare I say it, your favourite one; I'm meant to be the one that looks out for you. And I failed. And you landed up in here. And it comes back to me. I didn't take you two to the beach with the intent of having either you or Alan hurt, please believe me on that. I left you, and then I couldn't find you until it was too late. I should have been watching you, watching out for you. And I didn't, because… well, because. I'm so sorry, Gordo."

Gordon grasped his hand and squeezed it slightly. "Not your fault," he said. "Mine. I left you. Not the other way around." There was a moment of silence. "Scott, thanks for saving my life. I heard and remember everything, everything you said, everything Alan said. I even heard the paramedics saying that your actions helped save me. So, thanks. Thanks for everything." Gordon held his arms open for a hug. Scott moved in, without any hesitation.

"Gordon," Scott mumbled against his shoulder. "You're my little brother, and I love you, but don't you ever scare us this way again. You hear me?"

"Yeah," Gordon agreed. "I hear ya."

Even after that exchange, neither brother seemed willing to part.

* * *

><p>How long they stayed in that embrace was unknown, but a pressing need caused Scott to wriggle out of it.<p>

"Gordon, you gotta let me go," he insisted, eyes pleading for help from his brothers and girlfriend. It was conveniently ignored. "If you don't, I'll just have to tell the nurses that it was you who wet the bed. Apparently, you're not quite as housebroken as they were led to believe."

Gordon recoiled in horror. In a place like this, he still felt that he had to maintain some sense of his dignity. "That's low, man. Real low."

It was. But it had gotten the lovable barnacle off of him, so Scott was happy. "Um, where exactly are the bathrooms?"

"Down the corridor. Third offshoot on the right."

"Thanks, John. Back in a bit."

It was on his way back to the room that Scott literally ran into the person he was least expecting to see. In fact, it was the person he least wanted to see, especially after yesterday's showdown. His father was clearly incapable of taking a hint.

"Scott, there's a discussion we need to have."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. The original characters come from my imagination, and have appeared in some of my other works. I am pretty sure that my imagination belongs to me, unless it runs wild and becomes a law unto itself.**

Chapter Three

Still recovering from his chewing out session with his father, Alan managed to find his way back to Gordon's room. His head hung low, he entered the room. Gordon picked up on his mood immediately.

"Alan." Gordon held his arms open, the way he did for Scott. "C'mere. It's okay, Al. Was an accident. Not your fault."

John stared up at the ceiling while Virgil directed his eyes away. Gordon pointedly shot a glare at them. "Back off him," he warned. "He's feeling bad enough already. So just back off him. I was partially to blame, because I called him chicken. Al, sorry about that."

"But," John began, unable to restrain himself. He cut himself off, once he saw the mischievous glint in Gordy's eye. He knew what the look meant, having been on the receiving end of one of those particular glints. Gordy, while still in pain, wasn't in enough pain to stop him from getting payback on Alan.

"And, this is for leaving me in that state for twenty freaking minutes before seeking help!" Gordon cuffed Alan upside the head before giving him a wedgie. "And for pushing me! I heard everything when I was out! God, Al, you don't resort to violence when I call you names!" He ignored the fact that he used violence to prove his point.

Once again, Alan shrieked in pain. After having hair ripped from his head, and now being assaulted by his usually favourite brother, Alan came to the conclusion that it was just not his day today. Hobbling off the bed in pain, Alan pouted at Gordon. It was his patented I'm-the-baby-Tracy-and-I-don't-like-what-you-did Pout. "That really hurt, Gordon! You don't know how badly this hurts!"

A perceptive raise of eyebrows between John and Virgil.

Rhetoric from Gordon. "Don't I? You think having holes drilled into your head and then being doped up on morphine means I don't have pain?"

"Ugh, yes!" Alan fidgeted, trying to relieve some of the ache he felt. "That's what morphine is for!"

Gordon pushed Alan away from him as though he was poisonous. "You have no clue, do you?"

Alan looked to Virgil in appeal. Virgil raised his head out of the latest medical pamphlet he was reading to shake his head, chestnut curls gleaming under the halogen glow of hospital lighting. "I'm not getting involved any more than I have to. You two know I hate it when you fight. And, contrary to popular belief, but I'm not the referee who monitors your arguments, Alan. Find someone else."

Still incensed at Alan's confession, John ignored Alan. As far as he was concerned, Alan's need to protect his interests had threatened Gordon's life, and Scott's emotional health. That was not something the blond Adonis could forgive and forget easily.

Downcast at finding no allies amongst his brothers, Alan replaced his Everyday Pout with Sulky Pout.

"So, just how bad did it get?" John asked, ignoring Alan's customary pout.

"Remarkably restrained," Alan replied. "No swear words from him at all."

"Well, no, there wouldn't be. The potty-mouth-under-times-of-duress trait belongs to a different Tracy," John pointed out, flicking hair out of his eyes. "Who, I might add, will also feel the need to psychoanalyse your actions. And believe me, there will be plenty of swearing coming your way over the next few weeks."

* * *

><p>Scott debated between pivoting on his heel and walking away or standing his ground to sort the issue out like a man. The former option was winning as he mentally tabulated the pros and cons of each choice, but he knew that his father would consider his flight a surrender. One thing Scott wasn't was a man who could give up easily in a fight. He would run his point into the ground until the other person submitted and saw his perspective.<p>

"Scott," Jeff began in a measured tone. "Alan told me everything."

Blue eyes flashed like steel. "Good for him," came the reply, with a chill factor that could rival deep space. His decision made, Scott turned on his heel, ready to retrace his steps back to Gordy's room.

Jeff placed an arm on Scott's shoulder, a leash preventing him from moving away. Scott tried to shrug the offending hand off him, but Jeff's grip was too firm, talons digging into bark.

"Listen, I'm not here for this. I'm not in the mood to hear about what a pathetic failure of a son you think I am. I'm here for Gordon, and no one else. Now, let me go," Scott muttered, grinding his molars. His tone was quiet and firm, his jaw set and his body held up to its maximum height. It was a sure sign that his anger was boiling close to the surface, ready to overflow at any given moment.

"Scott, we have to have this discussion. Just five minutes. That's all I want."

Fury won over. Scott twisted his shoulder out of Jeff's hand. For him, there were more underlying issues at hand than then irresponsible claims. For Scott, it ran so much deeper, with almost a decade's worth of problems creeping to the forefront of his mind. There was too much history, too many gory details glossed over, because neither Scott nor Jeff had wanted to acknowledge the ever escalating tensions between them over the years.

"Scott," Jeff started, getting in before Scott could move away. "I'm sorry for what happened yesterday. I was stressed, worried and tense, and I needed to vent. I picked you as my target."

A beat of silence. A moment where old tensions rise to surface, before sinking to the point of suppression, resembling an oscillating sine wave.

"So, are we good?"

The steel blue eyes turned incredulous. "Let me get this straight," Scott laughed humourlessly. "You call me irresponsible, to my face no less, you blame me for an incident I had no control over, you disregard the fact that I did everything in my power to _help_ your son once I found him, you imply that I'm untrustworthy, and after that dismal apology, you think it's all hunky-dory?"

Jeff stepped back, reeling in shock. He hadn't expected Scott to be quite so blunt. Instead, he was hoping that Scott would have been amenable to accepting the pitiful apology gracefully and move on. Water under the bridge was what Jeff was hoping for, but an ominous bubbling in the pit of his stomach told him that he had barely scratched the surface of the iceberg that Scott wanted to expose.

"Son," Jeff called out, a hint of desperation, to Scott's retreating back. Scott continued to walk away, unperturbed.

"Don't you walk away from me when I'm talking to you, Scott Jefferson Tracy!"

Scott paused, tilted his head to the side, and carried on back to Gordon's room.

"I am still your father!"

With the same cruelness Jeff had demonstrated, Scott let out another humourless, sarcastic laugh before delivering his final retort.

"But only in name. Only in name."

* * *

><p>Alan sulked in the corner of the room, still smarting over the perceived betrayal his brothers had committed against him. The two red heads were engaged in a thumb war, with Virgil keeping score. Gordon was winning, but only because he kept on cheating by using both hands to ensure a win. John stood out of the fray, keeping an eye on the scenario in case things got out of hand. After all, the Tracys were an exuberant bunch, and Gordon had just come out of surgery.<p>

"Scott's been gone a long time," John mentioned casually. Truthfully, it was only because he craved someone of his own intellectual age to talk to. There was nothing worse than overlooking younger brothers, especially when one was in a strop, and the other two were ignoring his scintillating presence. Instead, he mourned, he could have been using his time to flirt with the girl he had bumped into at the hotel's breakfast buffet earlier in the day.

"Five bucks says he stopped at the café to feed the bottomless pit," Gordon quipped. "Maybe he's getting a milkshake moustache to match his gummy tummy. A match made in heaven."

"You picked up on that too?" Tash asked, corners of her mouth twitching up.

"Please. I've lived with the guy for fifteen years. I know he only eats junk when he's stressed. And how could I not notice the gummy tummy? It makes him look like he's three months pregnant."

"Gordon!" Virgil berated. "Be nice. Scott's been worrying over you. And you know the Human Dyson eats anything and everything in sight when he's worried. You know the rule when he's like this: you don't eat fast, you don't eat."

"Really? He's worried about me?"

Virgil rolled his honey burnt eyes. "For reasons that I will _never_ fully understand, Scott actually happens to give a damn about you." The unspoken _all joking aside, we all give a damn about you because you're our brother and we love you,_ lingered in the air.

"Thanks, Virg. I don't give a damn about you either."

What he really meant was _thanks, Virg. I love you too._

"Ten bucks says he ran into Dad," Virgil suggested.

John paled. Oh boy. Two pyroclastic volcanoes erupting at once? The blond Adonis figured it was in humanity's best interests for him to run interference between the pair. Conversely, he figured it was better for self-preservation that he stayed out of whatever spat was brewing between them.

"Let them sort it sort it out on their own, John. You do not need to get involved," Virgil pointed out. "This is not your fight to win, and Scott won't appreciate it if you stuff it up for him."

The object of their discussion entered the room appearing quite calm. The only sign of his agitation was the door that slammed back into the frame violently after Scott entered.

"On a scale of one to ten?" Virgil ventured, eyebrows knitted together so it looked like a monobrow.

"Off the charts," Scott snarled. "The old man seemed to think a quick _I'm sorry_ could suffice. Then he had the gall to ask if we were good! I'm tellin' ya, it's a good thing he went off to his business conference because if he said another word…"

Virgil smiled triumphantly, as Scott broke off in a huff. "Told ya Dad caught up with him. You guys owe me ten dollars."

Alan sniffed in the corner, surreptitiously drawing attention back to him. Virgil's eyebrows squished closer together, the unibrow becoming more concentrated and pronounced. John sighed and crossed his arms across his chest. Gordon, on the other hand, completely ignored the sniff and chose to engage Tash in a game of rock-paper-scissors instead.

"Alan, get up!" Scott ordered harshly, remembering that he still had the task of tearing strips into Alan. He didn't care that the fourteen year old had probably been hauled over hot coals by his father, and was emotionally unstable after this encounter. As far as Scott was concerned, he had informed Alan that he was going to tear strips of him, and Scott was a man of principle. He always kept his word. "Follow me and keep up the pace. No slacking."

Feeling like he was walking to his own execution, Alan sighed, gathered his belongings and followed Scott. He would have preferred to have done this with a semi-calm Scott instead of Scott that mirrored Mount Vesuvius. Sulky Pout morphed into Angry Pout and Alan winged a silent curse over their father for fuelling Scott's pissed off mood.

"And stop pouting! Act your age, not your shoe size!"

The door was wrenched open and slammed shut once again.

"Do you think he'll listen and drop the teenaged attitude?"

"Nope," Gordon grinned, throwing a rock to beat Tash's scissors. "It's a day ending in 'y'."

* * *

><p>The sea breeze whistled gently, ruffling the curls of the nineteen year old and the fourteen year old as they sat on a bench in a park, opposite the hospital.<p>

"You did the wrong thing," Scott stated without preamble, leaving no room for argument. "I don't care if Gordon called you a yellow spotted lizard with acne issues; you do not leave an area without letting whoever's watching you know! Dammit, Al, you know this!"

"Yeah, but –"

"But nothing!" Scott roared, rounding on the petulant blond. He was acting like a four year old, instead of a fourteen year old. "Why the hell did you do that? Do you have any idea how much shit I'm about to go through because of your reckless actions? What the fuck did you think you were playing at? Were you thinking of anyone but yourself? No! You weren't! You never do!"

Alan's temper was quick to rise, complementing his brother's mood perfectly. "Why should I?" he retorted. "I'm the little one! I'm the one everyone's meant to look after! But no-one cares about me! No-one shows me any respect!"

"Respect is earned, Alan! It isn't given out freely!" Scott pounded on the bench they were sitting on, sending shockwaves through the wood. "You don't receive any respect from us because you keep hiding behind your _I'm the youngest Tracy and you can't get me into trouble_ card! You want your brothers to respect you? You lose the attitude and cop your punishment when you done wrong! And you did wrong, so buck up and take it! You want respect? You earn it, the hard way, the way we all did. And when you lose that respect, it's very hard to get back."

Alan fell silent, not knowing if this was directed to him, or an imaginary conversation Scott wanted to have with their father.

"And as for being the one everyone looks after, don't you think it's a bit presumptuous of you to not look out for your other brothers, but still expect them to watch over you?"

It was posed as question, Alan realised, but there was only one answer Scott wanted to hear. Tips of his ears burning from the strip-tearing session, Alan shook his head.

"No, you don't understand how conceited that is, or no, you don't think that's right? Which one is it?"

"No, it's not right," Alan muttered, spitting the words out from his lips.

"Damn straight. Now that's been established, let's move on."

Alan brightened at the prospect and leapt to his feet. "Does this mean I can go?"

"No. Park your ass back on the bench."

Alan collapsed with an audible thud. He had been so close. But it was clear that Scott hadn't finished yet, and that he would only be granted permission to leave once Scott had vented his spleen.

"Furthermore, why did you wait twenty minutes before seeking help?"

Stony silence.

"I want an answer, dammit!"

"Because I thought he was faking at first! Y'know, the way he usually does, before getting up and delighting in the fact that he pulled off an elaborate prank. When I realised he wasn't mucking around, I tried to call for help, but my phone was out of range and it was physically isolated. That's when I left him to try and find you. I was kinda scared as well. I mean, I was the one that pushed him."

Scott inhaled deeply. It did appear that Alan had tried to seek help. But his explanation wasn't satisfactory. In Scott's opinion, Alan should have sought help much faster than he did. Or, better yet, he shouldn't have pushed Gordon with such force in the first place.

"If it's any consolation, Dad's already reamed me out thoroughly." Alan fiddled with his thumbs. "Scott, I really am sorry. If I had known that Gordon had sustained a fractured skull which spiked pressure in his brain, I would have gotten help immediately. You _know _that."

Scott nodded once again.

"Is this what they mean when they say hindsight gives you twenty-twenty vision?"

The question was innocent enough, but Scott understood the message Alan was trying to pass on. Even though Scott had more years of life experience than Alan, it didn't mean he wasn't willing to learn a thing or two from his younger sibling.

"Yeah," Scott sighed, dreading the inevitable, upcoming debate with his father. "I guess it is."

* * *

><p>Jeff Tracy had barely concentrated during his business conference. Instead, he stewed over the last encounter he had with his brown haired, blue eyed son. Rife indignation bubbled furiously in the pit of his stomach, rising up his gullet. How dare Scott accuse him of not being his father! How dare he, after all Jeff had done for him?<p>

Admittedly, Jeff thought to himself, the initial apology could have gone better, on both parties part. But at least he was trying to make amends, stabilise a bridge that was under threat of collapsing under a tidal wave of water. Scott could at least have the courtesy of meeting him halfway, instead of being a boulder that refused to budge.

Old tensions that Jeff naively believed were long forgotten were bound to rise anew. Scott really did hold grudges. In that respect, his temperament was just like his mother; he could forgive, often after an extended period of time after an incident, but he never forgot. In that instant, Jeff pledged a silent prayer to his late wife. He vowed to resolve all the unspoken problems in his relationship with Scott, no matter how tedious the process was, or how long it took. He owed his son, and Lucille, that much, at the very least.

The conference disbanded, having reached its conclusion, and Jeff's stomach rumbled.

_After lunch_, he promised. _I'll do this with Scott after lunch._

Well, every condemned man's allowed a last, hearty meal.

* * *

><p>"Jeez, you two wanna slow down and actually taste your food?" Virgil asked, groaning at the sight of Scott and John shovelling food down their throat, as he delicately placed a fry into his mouth, chewing methodically before swallowing.<p>

After being unceremoniously removed from Gordon's room, as morning visitation hours were over, Virgil had suggested that they stop at the nearest food court to grab some lunch.

"Can't," John mumbled through a mouthful of his Double Bacon Cheeseburger Deluxe.

"Why?" Alan sucked at his Strawberry Surprise Slurpie.

"This is the best burger I've ever had," Scott interrupted over Alan, momentarily trying to block out the upcoming battle with his father. "I need thirds, fourths and fifths of this. Maybe even sixths. Seriously, I want to take this Spicy Chicken and Bacon Tendercrisp with my girl and marry them in a state that allows polygamy. It's that good."

The group froze in comical poses. John's jaw dropped, his half chewed mouthful falling out of his mouth. Virgil's fry dropped to the ground as his grip slackened and Alan dropped his slurpie cup, creating a splatter of pink ice around them. Their eyes swivelled to the red-haired girl, awaiting her response.

"Gee, Scott, I love you, and I know we've joked about this in the three years we've been dating, and you have to trust me when I say I'm ninety per cent sure you're the man I want to be with, but I'm gonna have to say no. That is the worst, most unromantic proposal I've ever heard. If you loved me," she injected fake hurt into her voice, "I guess you would have put more thought into it."

"I do love you!" Scott insisted, pulling his girlfriend in for a kiss, much to the disgust of his little brothers. And to make matters even more uncomfortable for them, he added with a quirk of his eyebrow and husky voice, "If I come back in one piece, I'll show you just how much I love you tonight, over and over again."

Virgil gagged while John rolled his eyes. Alan remained oblivious to the hidden meaning of Scott's words. This was way too much information for them to even want to know. Good thing Gordon wasn't there, otherwise the pair would have been subjected to his teasing. Although, if Gordon was there, the scenario would be a moot point.

"Why?" Alan repeated, redirecting the conversation, with his I-hate-being-ignored Pout plastered onto his face. "Where's the fire?"

"No fire," John said, tipping his head back and swallowing the entirety of his drink in three gulps. "Just Dad. We have an appointment with him in ten minutes."

"You don't have to come," Scott sighed. "I'm not letting you get caught up in the carnage, John."

"You wouldn't," John pointed out. "But our esteemed father has no such qualms. Believe me when I say I would much rather not be there."

"I do." With a peek at his watch, Scott stood up and lobbed his empty wrappings into the nearest bin. "Let's go, John. Time to witness my head on the guillotine."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. The original characters come from my imagination, and have appeared in some of my other works. I am pretty sure that my imagination belongs to me, unless it runs wild and becomes a law unto itself.**

**AN: This chapter is definitely not for those that like their Tracy boys squeaky clean, and therefore needs a warning: t**here are some brief references to substance abuse. I've tried to keep it as mild as possible, but it can be a painful subject for those who have been affected by it. ****

Chapter Four

Jefferson J. Tracy, former astronaut, entrepreneur and business tycoon, remained calm and composed as he entered neutral territory. It was not the hotel suite he, John, Virgil, Gordon and Alan were staying in, nor was it Scott's room in a different hotel. Instead, Jeff had found an empty office in the corporate building his conferences were held in, and he had commandeered it for the afternoon.

Scott and John had beaten him to their location. John perched on the edge of the windowsill, platinum blond hair glinting under the sunlight, appearing as a halo. Cornflower blue eyes hardened, though. A sign of his frustration at having to take sides, and he was most probably going to back Scott, like he and Virgil always did.

Scott, on the other hand, had no misgivings over displaying his displeasure at the situation. Frowning heavily, with his arms crossed firmly across his chest, Scott sat cross-legged on the desk.

"Scott," Jeff acknowledged with a nod of his head. "John, thank you for ensuring that he turned up."

"Like I had a choice," John muttered, almost inaudibly. Luckily for him, Jeff did not hear.

"Right, I'll cut straight to the chase. Scott, I meant what I said earlier today. I truly am sorry for my choice of words yesterday. For that, I apologise from the bottom of my heart."

Scott sat, defiant, jaw jutting out in a stubborn expression.

"However, that does not change my opinion of the way you comported yourself in the aftermath. When a member of family is in hospital, or any kind of trauma, you do not choose to go incommunicado. That is unacceptable, and it demonstrates irresponsibility on your part. I expect your phone to be open and you to be picking up all calls that come your way. What if I was calling you because Gordon needed a blood donor for a transfusion? You wouldn't have gotten the message, would you?"

"I'm pretty sure I would have answered if John called."

"That's not the issue at hand!" Jeff practically yelled. "You left when your family needed you! You were out of reach when you were relied on the most! Did you know that you were the first person Gordon wanted? Did you know that you completely rejected his call?"

"I didn't intend to reject his call," Scott defended himself, only to be cut off by Jeff.

"You don't intend to do a lot of things, Scott, like not watching your brothers when you were supposed to. Funny how it still occurred anyway."

John gulped at the venom Jeff had used. "Dad," he interjected quietly. "That is way below the belt. Scott's done more than enough watching of us over the past nine years. And how is Scott meant to watch them if they choose to move without telling him? Scott's human, not God; he only has two eyes. He does not see all."

Scott mouthed a quick _thank you_ to John as the blond leaped to Scott's defence, immensely grateful for his little brother's presence.

"John's right, sir." Scott swung himself off the table and straightened his posture up to its full height. Even though there was only a distance of two inches between their height, Scott seemed to tower over Jeff.

"I'm not God. I don't see everything, and I certainly don't have complete and absolute control over any situation at any given time. What you perceived as ignorance, I considered preservation. However, you're entitled to your opinion, however wrong it is, and that's fine. I know you, and I know you'll believe what you want to believe."

"Dad, Scott has probably over owned responsibility, so your implication and accusations towards what you perceived to be irresponsible is unjust and unfair," John advocated, just as a means of trying to keep peace.

Jeff raised his eyebrows. "And what exactly do you mean by that, John?"

"What he means is that I've been the primary carer for them since I was ten," Scott ground out through cemented jaws. "Right after Mom died, and more often than not, you were seeking solace in the bottom of a whiskey bottle. When we needed, no, we relied on you to make things better, even if it was something simple like a hug, or a glass of warm milk and a bedtime story for the sleepless nights, and you were in no shape to do that. So they came to me, because I could give them what they needed. But I was never what they wanted."

"Scott," Jeff gasped, wounded that he would bring up the taboo topic of his mother. "Stop. I don't want to hear this!"

"No. No, I won't, because this is how it all began! You think the myriad of problems we have'll get solved if you sweep it under the carpet like you normally do? Because I'm telling you, that's like putting a Band-Aid on a cut that requires stitches. It will never stop bleeding! And you know what, Dad? We need to talk about her. All of us. Why? Because that's the beginning of the downhill slide that led us here today."

"This is becoming a dissertation," Jeff muttered, unhappy with the way the conversation was headed. Jeff had expected some skeletons to remain in the closet, but it appeared that Scott was insisting on a full spring clean. Instead of the Tracy patriarch remaining in control of the discussion, dictating what topics were on and off the table, the Tracy heir held all the reigns to the topics at hand.

"Sit down, then," John said dryly, moving to the desk. "I'd imagine that, this time, the tuition is not only enlightening, but free."

"Being the eldest, I can remember quite a bit about life before and after Mom. I remember what it was like to be a kid. I remember being able to wake you up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning so you could take me down to the airfield for an hour before heading home to watch cartoons with the others for the rest of the morning. You'd make us the best blueberry pancakes with bubble gum syrup, much to Mom's dismay. Do you remember that, Dad?"

From the mahogany table, both father and son nodded mutely.

"Well, I remember the cartoons and the food," John amended. "Not the airfield."

"Back then, we called you Daddy. Not Father, not Dad, and certainly not Sir. You weren't any of those classifications yet. You were Daddy because you always seemed to make time for us. It didn't matter how much work you had brought home with you in those initial days of establishing your company; if we wanted to play a game of hide and seek with you, or ask you for homework help, you'd always do it."

Jeff fidgeted, wondering if Scott was trying to make him feel guilty with recollections of the past, or if his trip down memory lane served any tangible purpose.

"Remember life straight after Mom died? I'll bet you do." Scott sighed, interlocked his fingers as he paced the length of the office. "Whatever you possessed to make you Daddy got cremated and scattered into the ocean, along with Mom's ashes. The same way my childhood disappeared that day. You never seemed to have time for us after that. If it was a question on sixth grade homework, or the request for a simple snack, you expected us to fend for ourselves. Christ alive, Dad, I was ten freaking years old, and you left me in charge of four younger siblings!"

Out of his peripheral vision, John could see the ashen tinge to his father's skin tone. Jeff's grey eyes had a glassed over look, not because he was bored, but because he refused to acknowledge memories he had worked so hard on forgetting.

"Scott." A warning, before Jeff came to his senses and struck, rendering their relationship broken beyond repair. "Thin ice."

Scott nodded, took a deep breath to steady himself and heeded John's advice.

"Do you know the one thing I remember most about that time?"

Jeff shook his head.

"Let me give you a hint. It involves Virgil. It's you, basically ignoring his existence because he looks identical to Mom. He couldn't help that; it's an accident of genetics. He asked me why you couldn't bear to hug him, bear to look at him anymore, one evening after you brushed him aside and headed straight to the liquor cabinet. Do you know how hard it was for him to ask me that? Do you know what was harder? Trying to find the answer that could reassure Virgil, and not paint you as an ogre."

Jeff scrutinised his mind, searching for the relevant memory. Amidst the haze of his mind in the months after Lucille's death, he couldn't locate it.

"Do you know what an average day for me was at that time?"

Knowing that there was only one answer Scott wanted to hear, Jeff shook his head, wisps of grey shaking loose from where he had combed it earlier that day.

"I'd wake up, often before five, brush my teeth, go for a shower. I'd spend the next hour or so finishing off last night's homework, because I'd been too busy to complete it the previous night. At six thirty, I'd wake John and Virgil up so they could brush their teeth and shower. You were running out of the front door by this time. By seven, I had placed five bowls of breakfast on the dining room table. I would then hound Alan and Gordon to get ready for school, which is more difficult than it sounds. Once I washed the breakfast dishes, I tossed five lunches together and we scrambled out the door to catch the bus that would deposit John and the others off at elementary school while I went to middle school."

Jeff opened his mouth to speak, but Scott held up a hand to stop him.

"Afterwards, I would wrangle the troops from the playground and we'd head home. If we were lucky, we'd be just in time to catch the bus home. More often than not, we'd miss it and we'd have to walk. Sometimes, we'd stop in the shops, pick things up on reduced price so I could make them dinner with the little money we had. We wouldn't get home until after four. Then I'd have to fix them something to tide them over until dinner time. John and Virgil would start on their homework, no prompting needed, but I had to contend with Alan and Gordon, just so that they would get it done. I could spend about fifteen minutes on my own work before I had to go referee a fight that had broken out between the youngest two. Inevitably, Virgil would come to me with a homework problem because John was busy with his own work, and couldn't help him. So, I'd not only have to sort out Gordon and Alan, I'd deal with Virgil as well.

"By seven thirty, I had them eating dinner and once they finished, I spent the next half hour cleaning up while John kept them occupied with a game. John would then put Alan and Gordon to bed and watch Virgil play the piano before telling him it was lights out and heading up to sleep himself. By about ten, everyone was asleep, letting me attempt to complete my work in peace. You'd normally be back home by this time, but for the most part, you spent most of it locked in your room, and nothing, short of nuclear warfare, could drag you out to us."

Silence reigned, as Jeff absorbed Scott's verbal tongue lashing.

"Funny thing, though. I remember each detail because I lived it, but I didn't mind in the slightest. I didn't want the responsibility, but I accepted it because it was the right thing to do. It was the_ only_ thing to do. I knew you were doing what you were doing to try and provide for us. I knew about our monetary problems; I was very much aware that we were on the verge of declaring bankruptcy. I didn't care that I had adopted the primary carer role, because I thought it would only be for a short time while you got back on your feet. I believed you had enough trust in me to ensure that the day-to-day running of the household went smoothly while you provided for us."

"Are you telling me you thought I was a bad father?" Jeff asked, rising on defensiveness. Heck, the man had basically called his son an abject failure the night before. Scott was bound to want to get a few comebacks in.

"Under the circumstances," Scott picked his words carefully, knowing that his outburst had cut Jeff more than he was willing to show. "No, you were not a bad father. But in your quest to ensure financial stability, you cost me something else. You cost me my childhood. To be quite frank, Dad, I would rather have had time with you as a child, than the money. And I know how easy it is for me to say that, because I've never been in your position, but that's what I would have preferred."

"And all of this… undue stress, shall we say, led you to…?"

"Dad," John issued another warning sharply. "I don't think –"

"No, son," Jeff replied adamantly. "Scott wants to air out dirty laundry, so it's better to air it all out." His direction diverted to Scott. "Is it?"

"The drug use? The shooting up of smack on a regular basis? The subsequent cocktail of hash, alcohol, smack and ecstasy swimming in my bloodstream leading to the overdose? It was.,.. quite a big player, yes. I'll give it that much. But it wasn't the only factor. I thought that maybe it might help you sit up and take notice of us a bit more, if something happened to me."

There was something that sparked in Jeff's eyes, John noted, a keen observer in this exchange. Whether it was incredulity or resentment, John couldn't tell.

"Was that the twisted logic you used to justify your actions?" It was hurt, John identified, averting his eyes, feeling that he was intruding on a moment that should have been between Scott and Jeff. "You're using me as a way of exonerating yourself from blame? You're shirking off your responsibility and judgement in your mistakes onto me."

"No, Dad! Far from it!" Scott scrubbed his hands vigorously over his face. "I was thirteen, old enough to make my own choices. Old enough to know the risks and stupid enough to take them anyway. It was stress, peer pressure, me trying to figure out who I was, not who I was forced to be. I just wanted to escape, become someone else for a while. Every time the weight you had beared on my shoulders became too much, I had to turn somewhere else to find a quick-fix, because you were off on your latest business trip, and you weren't there to help me."

If those words were meant to reassure Jeff, they did the complete opposite. Instead, it made him feel infinitely worse. Hindsight had shown him that he had allowed himself to drift so far away from his sons. At the same time, Jeff realised that it was the first incidence of Scott showing a complete and utter disregard for his duty and responsibility to his family. He should have seen the signs for what they were, not disregard it, as he had done.

"Well, if it makes a difference," Jeff muttered. "It worked."

"All I know is that after that, you packed me off to Grams," Scott continued, as though there had been no interruption. "I spent a year there, before you insisted that the others followed suit and joined Grams and myself."

The nineteen year old moved to the window, drained from the emotional toll this was having on him. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, this was one of the most painful things he had done to date.

"Dad, that was the best thing you have ever done for me. Not just because you let me get the help I so badly needed, but because it gave me the time to figure out who I was, who I could be and what potential I had within me. And while I wasn't completely back on track within the year, I was in a much better position to cope than I had been before. I felt that I could handle the responsibility of being the big brother and care giver better than before."

Jeff raised his eyebrows. "How so?"

Scott shrugged, as though the answer should have been obvious. "I had a better support system. I had Grams, who was always willing to demonstrate the benefits of her attitude adjustment clap when any of us refused to toe the line."

"Oh, yeah, I remember those," John winced, shifting his weight as he sat. "Knocked you right into the next side of Sunday."

"Thank you, John," Jeff interjected, mildly amused. He, too, had been on the receiving end of an attitude adjustment clap one too many times as he grew up.

"And it's been like that ever since."

Another pause. Jeff wondered, once again, what the trip down memory lane was meant to achieve. Aside from depicting the extent of accountability he had placed on his young son's shoulders, which Jeff had remained blissfully unaware of.

"Dad, I haven't said all of this because I resent it. I've mentioned all of this because I wanted you to know that I've never taken my duty towards my brothers lightly."

"Then what did you resent?" Jeff demanded, swinging himself off the table. "I know you, Scott, and I know you're restraining against revealing something."

"Do you really want to know?"

Jeff nodded. How bad could it be?

"I don't resent the fact that you have all these expectations of me," Scott chewed on his lip, ploughing on ahead nervously. "But when I don't meet up to these expectations, you have no hesitation in chewing me up, spitting me out and then hanging what's left of me out to dry. That's what I resent the most. Half the time, you're so caught up in pinning the blame on your scapegoat, which is me, by the way, you can't see the wood for trees, and realise that it was an accident."

Jeff felt the ire rise within him. "I get you to watch over your brothers so these accidents don't occur!"

"But, Dad," John interjected, knowing that this was exactly the wrong thing to say, as it would just incense Scott. "Scott is powerless to prevent quite a lot of things. Take the time we went ice-skating and Virgil broke his arm. That happened because the blades were ridiculously dull and couldn't grip the ice properly. Virgil just happened to fall in an awkward position when that occurred. There was nothing Scott could have done to prevent it, but when you arrived at the hospital to see Virgil, the first thing you did was berate Scott for not being careful enough with us. And he sucked it up, because he knew that's what you needed from him. What about the time I fell out of a tree because I wanted to see the planets align with my telescope? Scott told me not to, but I did it anyway. When you found out, Scott was the one you chose to vent at, not me. It should have been me, but he took it, as it's his bizarre way protecting us."

Jeff nodded, showed he had acknowledged, heard and understood what John was saying. "But that's not the issue at hand, here, John. The issue is that Scott was meant to be watching over Gordon and Alan to ensure that nothing would happen to them. He was the preventative measure I implemented."

"Dad, please, enlighten me," Scott snapped, reaching the end of his tether. "How exactly am I meant to observe two beings that have disappeared from sight? Oh, and by the way, preventative measures have the tendency to fail. That's why I exist."

"You were not meant to let them disappear!" Jeff retorted back, hands forming fists, leaping to his feet, consciously ignoring Scott's jibe.

"And you thought they'd listen to me?" Scott laughed sarcastically. "Dad, they stopped listening to everything and everyone when they hit their teens. Of course, had you been around more often, you would have picked up on that."

"And what does that mean?"

"It means exactly that! If you could spend more than a week at home at a time instead of travelling all over the country, you'd realise that taking charge of the Tracy boys is so much harder than you make it out to be."

As Jeff began to swell in indignation, John cut in. "Scott, I think you've said enough for now. Dad, sit down and take a few deep breaths before you implode."

The fierceness in John's voice made both men comply.

"Dad, one thing you've forgotten in all of this, and one thing Scott will never remind you about, is that this was initially meant to be his time away from us with his girlfriend." As Jeff was about to interject, John continued. "With only his girlfriend. No family, and no fraternal interference. They had been planning this since January. That's six months in the making."

Jeff was fully aware of that. In fact, he had given his approval to Scott in the initial stages of planning.

"_You_ were the one that put the kibosh on that, when you announced that not only were you headed here for a business conference in the week Scott was coming here, but you had planned to turn it into a family vacation."

That much was true. But Jeff hadn't, and still could not see how that interfered with Scott's plans. As far as he was concerned, if he wanted to take his family out for a vacation, he was entitled to. It also served the purpose of allowing him to spend some time with his children, something he hadn't done in a long time. To Jeff, it seemed like the ideal plan, combining business with recreation. It was just one of life's unfortunate coincidences that the conference happened be situated at his eldest son's vacation spot, in the same week that the aforementioned son would be on vacation. At the time, Jeff recollected, it had seemed like a blessing in disguise. Not only could he spend time with his boys during the three days where he was not scheduled to work, he could enlist the help of his eldest in watching over his rambunctious bunch.

"Dad, Scott will never willingly tell you this, but he was pretty pi-" John broke off, biting back the words that were on the tip of his tongue. Remembering that he was addressing his father, he knew that language would not earn him, or Scott, any brownie points. "Scott was annoyed. Well, annoyed is putting it mildly."

At Scott's incredulous look, John laughed. "Please. I share a room with you. I heard you cursing up a storm, and then subsequently running down to raid the kitchen for a midnight snack or three.

"My point, Dad, is that Scott refused to complain about this because he knows how badly we wanted to spend time with you. He was putting everyone else's needs above his, as he always does."

That, Jeff realised, was the differentiating factor between his sons. The youngest had no problem with voicing his opinion, often not knowing when it was a good idea to keep his thoughts to himself. The eldest, on the other hand, would internalise his thoughts, letting them fester and stew for almost a decade before he decided to let the incident go in an act of good faith, or let it out in an avalanche of suppressed rage.

"Dad, this _has_ to stop. You need to understand that John, Virgil, Gordon and Alan are all old enough to look out for themselves, to some extent. They have to be held culpable for their actions. I'm tired of having to play Dad-junior to them all the time. For the first time in nine years, I just want to be the big brother. That's it. No more, no less. I've pushed myself to the breaking point under the sheer amount of work they require, and frankly, I'm done with it. Especially with you reacting the way you do when things don't quite go to plan. You need to sit down, and have a serious think over your priorities, Dad, and this time, make sure that we are at the top of the list. Permanently."

Cobalt blue eyes glanced at the stainless steel watch slapped around his right wrist. Scott had been in here for nearly three hours, and his stomach was grumbling for some more food. Emotionally draining conversations tended to have that effect on him.

Opening the door, he leaned casually on the frame. "Dad, despite everything you've put me through, I still have the greatest respect for you. But, I'm telling you right now, one man to another, that something has got to change. Something has got to give, because if we keep going down this path, we _will_ hit the point of irreconcilable ideological differences."

The door closed quietly with a click, leaving two stunned Tracys in the office. Jeff made to move after Scott, but John's arm barred him back.

"How do you think it went, Johnny?" Jeff asked, his heart plummeting to his feet like a stone. This was not how he envisioned the discussion.

"About the best you could hope for," John replied, slinging an arm over his father's shoulders. "Scott's right in saying that you've pinned a heap of responsibility onto him, and that you've been quick to blame him when accidents occur."

"I know," Jeff murmured quietly.

"But he's also left the ball in your court, Dad," John pointed out, ever the optimist. "Now it's up to you to decide if you'll volley it back, or let it bounce out of play."

It was no choice at all. How could Jeff not volley it back to his son? The Tracy patriarch wasn't fool enough to turn down a second chance when he saw one.

"Word of advice, Dad; if you are intending to volley back, do it gently."

And with that noted and read, Jeff took his second, third and fifth son out to feed them an early dinner.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. The original characters come from my imagination, and have appeared in some of my other works. I am pretty sure that my imagination belongs to me, unless it runs wild and becomes a law unto itself.**

Chapter Five

As much as he valued the privacy it offered, Gordon Tracy absolutely detested having a private room. This was because it made him feel lonely and isolated, cut off from the rest of the world. The door to his room opened and the copper top looked up in expectation.

"Thought you'd be back," he grinned.

"Ah, just thought I'd see how you were before you're left in this prison cell," Scott said, ruffling Gordon's hair carefully to avoid the injury.

"Not a prison," Gordon pointed out. "A hospital."

"Really? Then why are you tied to all the monitors with wires? Boil it down to the basics, and it's the same difference."

Gordon huffed. Scott had him on a technicality.

"Wasn't expecting to see you here, Scott," Gordon conversed. "Thought the round with Dad might have tired you out."

"Nah, you know me; tough as nails. It did make me hungry, though."

"So you've come to me to skimp off my food," Gordon concluded. "And here was me thinking you actually cared."

"Gordy, snaffling food from you is one of the perks of being an older brother. How could I turn down such a good opportunity?" Scott smiled. "But, seriously, how are you?"

Gordon shrugged. "Okay, I guess. I can't exactly stand up quickly without my head spinning, but the doctor's explained that's a normal reaction."

Scott nodded. "From one man who's cracked his skull to another, trust me when I tell you it will settle down."

"Oh yeah, I forgot you cracked your skull playing ice-hockey." Gordon paused, chewing his lip. "Hey, Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"Um, I'm gonna tell Dad it was my fault, okay? I'll take my punishment, no complaints, regardless of what it is. Don't be taking the blame for something that wasn't your fault, no matter what Dad's said to you. And stop beating yourself up, while you're at it; accidents happen. That was what this was; an accident."

Scott smiled again, but refused to comment.

"So, anyone come see you in the afternoon, Gordy?"

Gordon nodded gently. "Yep. The other three came back for an hour or two while you and John were locking horns with Dad. You must have just missed them. Sorry to hear about your proposal rejection, by the way."

Scott waved his hand dismissively. "I'll make a Tracy out of her yet. I'm telling you, in six years, I'll have a ruby and diamond ring on her finger with a kid on the way. Dude, when's your dinner coming? I'm starving."

Gordon shrugged, pointing to his medical data pad. All the information relating to Gordon's treatment, including mealtimes, was detailed into the daily planner.

"An hour?" Scott moaned, head flopping onto the rails on Gordon's bed. Reading the details above it, he looked at Gordon. "Looks like you're in for some specimen samples."

"What does that mean?" Gordon visibly paled. Whatever it was, it did not sound pleasant to the fifteen year old.

His question was answered by a nurse barging her way into the room. Without any consideration for Gordon's visitor, she bustled around him, hurriedly trying to get him to stand and walk the short distance to the bathroom.

"Can you slow down, please?" Gordon asked, vexed at feeling rushed as his head began to spin. He turned pleading, helpless eyes to his brother.

"It's okay, Gordy," Scott assured, rushing to the fifteen year old's cry for help. "I'm here for you."

With a huff and a cursory glance at the watch pinned to her uniform, the nurse thrust a specimen jar into Gordon's hand, instructing that he needed to fill the jar and hand it back to her in two minutes, before leaving to answer a call from another patient.

Gordon turned to Scott, hand resting on the toilet door, eyes panicked.

"Whoa, Gordon, there are limits to brotherly love."

"Scott," Gordon croaked out, embarrassed blush tinging his cheeks. "Scott, I can't pee on demand. Why do they even need this? I'm not diabetic."

"It's got to do with your brain and proteins, making sure that everything's looking normal, not diabetes. Medicine has come a long way in the past year. And just tell her that, then," Scott shrugged. "I'm sure they can collect your pee at a later time."

"I can't! This nurse is a monster! She's been snarky with me all day!" Gordon turned his head and spied a juice machine in the corner. An idea formed in his mind. He was sick, that was a given, but he wasn't sick enough to stop his practical jokes.

"Scott," his tone became saccharine. "Do you think you could get me some apple juice? The clouded one."

Scott frowned, but on second thoughts, he really didn't want to know what Gordon was planning. After all, if he asked no questions, he'd be told no lies. "Sure, but at least try to fill the jar."

"Of course, big brother of mine." Gordon smiled sweetly until Scott turned his back and headed to the machine.

Then, the smile turned crafty.

Within moments, Scott returned with a carton of the appropriate juice.

"Thanks." Gordon snatched the juice box out of his brother's lax hands and promptly emptied the contents into his specimen jar, shaking it vigorously. "Whaddaya think?"

Scott's eyes narrowed. "Gordon, are you telling me that I wasted $4.20 on an overpriced carton of juice so you could pour it into a pee jar so you don't get in trouble with a snarky nurse? Jesus Christ, I thought you were going to drink it!"

"Don't worry, Scotty, it's not a waste. Just wait."

The snarky nurse returned, holding out a sealing bag for the samples. Gordon withheld it from her, causing her to frown and glare heavily at him.

"Gee, Scott, what do you think? It doesn't look quite right." Gordon held the jar up to the harsh, halogen lighting.

"I don't know, Gordy. I don't generally take the time to examine my own urine."

"Looks kinda cloudy to me," Gordon continued happily, pointedly ignoring the look of irritation on the nurse's face. "Better filter it through again." He raised the jar up in a mock toast before swallowing the liquid in one easy gulp.

The nurse backed away in horror, leaving Scott and Gordon to their own devices.

"Gordon," Scott couldn't quite stifle his laughter. "That was a very nasty thing to do to the poor nurse. She was just trying to do her job."

Gordon rolled his amber eyes exasperatedly. "Please, Scott. You were just as pissed off with her attitude as I was. You're just better at masking it. And, FYI, that was totally worth it."

"Yes, Gordy," Scott laughed as he guided Gordy slowly back to the room. "It actually was worth it. Best $4.20 I've ever spent."

* * *

><p>Jefferson Tracy watched his middle son lick his ice-cream sundae as he fashioned a mermaid sculpture around the dozing youngest son on the beach. His eldest blond son stood beside him, contemplative mood as he watched the sunset.<p>

"Provided Gordon doesn't relapse, the doctors are happy to release him late tomorrow afternoon." He paused. "Do you really think Scott meant it when he said he was done?"

The blond Adonis drew his eyes away from the palette of reds, oranges and purples. "Honestly, Dad? Yeah, I think he meant it." John sighed. "Dad, place yourself in his shoes. He went from pre-teen to adult in a space of one day. He suspended the experiences he would have had as a teenager, such as after school sport training sessions, until he was sixteen, so that we were a bit older and he didn't have to watch us all the time. Gordon, Virgil, Alan and even I had the freedom to have those experiences, because Scott was there to watch over the others."

"But?" Jeff prompted, rolling up the sleeves to his shirt as he kneeled, sinking an inch into the sand.

"Dad, Scott's realised what he's missed out on. He just wants to make up for lost time. The only feasible way for him to do that is if he lets go. And I think that was what he was trying to do when he came here."

"But was he letting go for good?"

"No," John smiled softly. "This is Scott we're talking about. Nothing lasts forever with him. Either way it happened, he'll come back to us, just like he always has. Just show him you support him and the decisions he's making, regardless of whether they're the ones you would make or wouldn't make, and that should help, I guess."

Jeff rubbed his hand over his blond son's hair, smoothing back the golden lock that had fallen over his forehead. "Where did I get you from, John?"

"Online shopping?"

"No, that was Gordon, and they didn't offer returns on him."

John chuckled at the old exchange, just as Jeff intended. "Who could blame them? Who'd want him?"

"John, don't be mean."

"I meant that in the nicest way possible."

"Sure you did."

The pair sat there, watching Virgil apply the finishing touches to his sculpture. Alan dozed on, unaware that he had just become an integral part of Virgil's masterpiece. John looked at his father, hand held out expectantly.

"Oh, alright," Jeff conceded, pulling out a camera the size of a credit card. "One happy snap for the digi-album."

John rushed down to his other brothers, camera in hand. He quickly snapped the photo, and spent the rest of the evening down by the waterfront, while Jeff sat back and watched.

* * *

><p>Visiting hours were, once more, drawing to a close, and Scott found himself being shooed out of the room by several doctors and nurses on duty. Quickly, before he could raise their ire any more, Scott leant down to say goodbye to Gordon, still spooning the remnants of Gordon's dessert into his mouth.<p>

"I'll try and pop in tomorrow morning to see you, Gordy," he mumbled around a mouthful of jelly, cream and sprinkles.

"Dad'll be here," Gordon warned, completely aware of the tenuous relationship between his father and his brother.

"He'll be busy signing discharge and release forms. It'll be okay. And even if he isn't, I'm mature enough to be civil towards him."

With a quick noogie to the copper top, Scott made to move.

"Hey, Scott," Gordon called out, before Scott could move out of earshot.

"Yeah?"

"I, um, I know I don't say this enough," Gordon squirmed uncomfortably. "But, um, thanks for being my brother."

"I didn't really have much of a choice with that one."

"Well, then, thanks for being… you."

Scott smiled. "Now, I did have a choice with that one. I'll see you tomorrow, Gordon."

Returning the smile, Gordon sunk back down onto his pillow, feeling more relaxed than he had done in ages.

* * *

><p>The walk back from the hospital to his hotel room had done him good. His appetite sated – for now – and his mind feeling clearer than it had a few hours ago had put Scott in an almost apathetic mood, compared to his angry and bewildered state at the beginning of the day.<p>

The keycard beeped and the door unlocked with a click. As quietly as he could, he entered the room, placing a small carrier bag by the door, trying not to disturb the red head.

"How did it go?"

Internally, Scott winced. He should have known he couldn't pull one over his girlfriend. They had been together long enough to develop some form of intuition in regards to each other.

"Great," he squeaked out, in a voice that was several octaves higher than his normal one. A clear indication that he was not being honest. "Great. It was really good."

Turning around from where she stood, Tash raised her eyebrows. "How'd it go? The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the ugly truth, this time."

"Awful." Scott flopped onto the bed and buried his head in his hands. "Absolutely, gobsmackingly awful."

"Awww," she sat down next to him, taking one hand in hers. "Poor Scotty. Want to talk about it?"

"Not about the details, no."

"So everything is alright between you two?"

"Not by a long shot. But y'know something? I think we'll get there someday."

"That's good. He's the only father you'll ever have," she added softly, mumbling it into his chest cavity as she cuddled into him.

"I know." A pause to allow for a definitive change in mood. "I'm still in one piece," he pointed out.

"I can see that."

"I think the deal was that if I came back in one piece, I'd show just how much I love you, all night long. And quite possibly into the early hours of next morning too."

"Yes, it was. But, Scott, if you're really not in the mood after everything that's happened today…"

Pulling her sharply to her feet, Scott led her over to the bag he had dumped moments before. "Close your eyes," he instructed, placing his hands over them for good measure. Rummaging around in the bag, he quickly found what he was looking for.

"Okay, you can open them."

She complied, blinking to adjust her eyes at the sudden light change. Scott stood in front of her, with a red rose in his hands.

"This is part of some elaborate plan, isn't it?"

"Plan? Me? What, you don't think I can be impulsive at the best of times?"

"No. So, what's the plan?"

"Don't laugh, but I was going to do the typical old-fashioned date with you. Take you out to dinner, then dance under the stars with you and see where that led us."

Tash's green eyes sparkled at the thought. "I'm not laughing. It's so utterly you. You're such an adorable dork. And you knew exactly where the night would lead us."

"I prefer the term closet romantic, if you don't mind," Scott pointed out, pulling her in for a lingering kiss. "But then I figured, _hey, I'm left handed. Let's try things backwards._ So, here I am, trying to start the night from the end."

Another long, lingering kiss.

"Which brings me onto this." Scott pressed the rose into Tash's hands, pulled her closer to him. "Tash, I will love you until the rose you hold dies."

"Scott, I love you, and I love the thought, but this rose is fake. It will never…" she broke off as realisation dawned. "You're a very smart man, Mr. Tracy."

"I have the odd flash of brilliance, now and then. I meant it," he replied. "I love you, Natascha Riley. A part of me always will love you, and only you, always and forever." He pulled her even closer, shooting a smouldering look her way. "So, darling, still thinking I'm not up for tonight?"

A cheeky grin as they moved further into the room, cocooning themselves under the bed covers. "Oh, baby, you're more than up for tonight."

* * *

><p>Night blended easily into day, and defying the laws of teenagehood, which dictated that every adolescent had to sleep in for as long as possible, Gordon woke up at the same time the sun rose. He couldn't help it; excitement and adrenaline rushed through his body. Today, barring any unforeseen circumstances, would be the day he was discharged from this hellhole.<p>

Time was paradoxical. It passed incredibly quickly, yet it was agonizingly slow. Before he knew it, he had munched his way through breakfast, and his father was sitting back by his bedside again, but afternoon had yet to roll around. Apparently, John had been instructed to take the younger two brothers out for a short walk as they were becoming restless, allowing Jeff to give his undivided attention to his fourth born.

They had been enjoying a nice discussion in the quiet interim. Jeff informed Gordon of Virgil's mermaid sculpture that encased Alan. Gordon laughed like a hyena, especially as he heard of Alan's less-than-pleased reaction when he woke up from his nap. Gordon had then talked about Scott's impromptu visit in the wake of the storm. Jeff had frowned and tried to appear disapproving as Gordon retold his prank, but he failed. Damn, but his son had a wicked sense of humour, in both meanings of the word. However, when he heard about Scott's failed proposal, he simply appeared thoughtful.

The door flew open without warning and five figures walked in as a group, talking animatedly over each other. Alan pounced on the only available chair. Virgil flopped backwards on the foot of Gordy's bed. John leant casually against the door, locked in a discussion with Tash.

Jeff met Scott's eye.

Scott eyeballed him back.

"Dad."

"Son."

Silence. Nothing if not a little awkward.

"Son, step outside for a moment," Jeff instructed, pulling out his rental car keys.

Biting his tongue and rolling his eyes, Scott complied. "Listen, Dad," he began tiredly. "If this is Round Two of our verbal sparring, then I really don't want to know."

"It's not, Scott." Making sure the nineteen year old man was following him, Jeff marched out to his rental vehicle. "Well, hop in."

Suspicion rising, Scott hesitated. "You're sure this isn't Round Two?"

"No, Scott. I figured that with Gordon occupied with your girlfriend and his brothers, I could take this opportunity to unearth a few truths of my own. Now, get in. We have a bit of a drive ahead of us."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. The original characters come from my imagination, and have appeared in some of my other works. I am pretty sure that my imagination belongs to me, unless it runs wild and becomes a law unto itself.**

Chapter Six

The ride proceeded in an uncomfortable silence. Normally, the two Tracys would have had no problems filling the ride with small talk, often revolving around the benefits and drawbacks of the latest advancements in avionics and other aviation related material, but their equilibrium had been unequivocally altered in the aftermath of yesterday.

"Dad? Where are we going?" Scott had eventually asked when they were stuck in traffic.

"You'll see," Jeff replied, drumming his fingers absentmindedly on the steering wheel.

"A hint?"

"We're heading north."

For Scott, that made the entire situation about as clear as mud. Turning to face the window, Scott sighed deeply as he stared at the non-moving line of cars. If it held up, it was going to be a long trip in less than comfortable conditions.

Jeff tapped some more on the wheel. "You don't know how much like me you are, son, do you?"

Scott straightened, twisting against his seatbelt. "What do you mean by that?"

"You know how I met your mother?" Jeff swallowed. His throat had constricted against his will, but he knew it was important for Scott to understand the context, to have a full appreciation for what he had in mind.

"You saw her sitting in a classroom on the first day back at school, and she teased you because she could drive and you couldn't, despite you being a year older than her," Scott repeated, as he had heard this several times before.

"She didn't tease me," Jeff muttered. "It was a friendly exchange. But, yes, that was it in a nutshell. The rest snowballed from there. It's not unlike your relationship, isn't it?"

"Okay, there are some similarities between the two," Scott shrugged. "Is there a point to this?"

"Yes." The traffic began to move, so Jeff ended the conversation to concentrate on the road. It had taken a while, but the multi-vehicular accident that had caused the jam had been cleared, allowing them to proceed on their trip without incident.

"You know where I was initially stationed with the Air Force?" Jeff asked lightly.

"Cocoa Beach, I think," Scott scrunched his hair in his hand as he tried to remember. He was amazed when he learnt that he had remembered right.

"That's where we're headed."

* * *

><p>Gordon eyed the stack of papers that had been placed on his table. They were his release forms, he realised. His ticket to freedom. Only, there was one tiny problem; his father, being the adult Gordon was being released to, needed to sign the forms. And at the current juncture in time, his father and his eldest brother had gone AWOL.<p>

"Where are they?" he whined, staring longingly at the paper pile. "I want to get out of here! I want to go for a swim in the ocean! I want to feel the salt water rippling through my hair as I fly like a penguin!"

"Penguins don't fly," Virgil pointed out, rather unhelpfully.

"They fly through water," Gordon countered. "Scientists have discovered that they penguins mimic the action of flight when they glide through water."

"Then they don't fly in the traditional sense of the word," Virgil stated. He pulled out a pen with a flourish. "I could always sign for you."

"Virgil, I appreciate the offer, but they're after Dad's signature."

The pen waved again, glinting enticingly under the lights. "I repeat; I could always sign for you."

"No! Virgil, as your older, taller and wiser brother, I forbid you from committing forgery!" John outlawed the only plausible way to speed up Gordon's discharge process, hair falling into his eyes as he shook his head vigorously. "My God, I never knew you had criminal tendencies."

"You can forge Dad's signature?" Alan piped up. He had never been so quiet for so long.

"Sure."

"How long have you been able to do this?"

"Since I was seven. I used to sign all of your permission slips for school. And your after-school detention slips too."

Alan was suitably impressed. "Could you teach me?" He looked hopeful, sure that Virgil couldn't deny him this, simply because he was the youngest and was used to getting what he wanted, majority of the time.

Virgil cocked his head to the side. Part of him told him that it could be beneficial to teach another person, just in case. The other part of him was still rife with anger on his brothers' behalf. Not only had Alan's actions seriously injured Gordon, they had also had a direct impact on Scott. It was not something he would be willing to reward, or forgive in the space of a day. When his favourite brother was wounded emotionally, Virgil perceived it as an attack on him too, given their closeness as brothers.

"No," he replied simply.

"Awww, Virgil!" Alan used his I'm-not-happy-with-you Pout. "Please?"

"No."

"Come on, you _know_ you want to."

It was the wrong thing to say. Virgil stiffened, the vein in his neck pulsating visibly. It was a sure sign that Virgil was about to blow. In slow motion, Virgil swivelled his head to regard his little brother. "Don't you _dare_ assume that you know what I want! Don't you _dare!_ You are _not_ exactly in my good books right now, and behaving in a cantankerous manner and pouting when things don't go your way will not get you back there any faster! Do you understand?"

Sullenly pouting, Alan shrank back into his seat, arms folded defensively across his chest.

"They have been gone a long time," Tash commented to John, subtly urging him to call one of them.

"You're worried?"

"If it's a rebuttal from yesterday, then yes, I'm worried. For both of them, not just Scott."

It was enough to spur John into action. Pulling his portable vid-phone out of his pocket, he pressed a button to speed dial Scott.

"Hey, Scott, where are you?" John asked airily as soon as Scott had acknowledged the call. The background image on the screen that displayed Scott was ambiguous, giving John no hint as to where he was.

"_Cocoa Beach."_

"Is Dad with you?"

"_Uh, yeah. He brought me here."_

"Can I have a word with him?"

"_Sure."_

John tapped his foot on the linoleum floor as he waited for the phone switch to take place.

"_John? Is there a problem?"_

"Dad! Hey! No, no problem. Just wondering where you were and when we can expect you back here. Gordon's release forms are waiting here for you to sign and Gordy's getting antsy."

John was surprised when he heard his father curse under his breath. Was this the same man that had no hesitation in grounding them for using such language in his hearing?

"_Listen, John, you're eighteen. Do you think you could sign the forms for Gordon's release in my stead?"_

John shook his head. "The hospital wants your name on the forms. No one else."

"_I'll sign them as soon as I get back. Tell Gordon I'm sorry, but he has to sit tight."_

John relayed the information to Gordon, who snarled and frowned, clearly conveying his displeasure.

"When will you be back?" John asked tentatively.

"_As soon as we're done here. I'm sorry, John, I can't give you a more definite answer. But this is important for both of us, and I need to do this right."_

John nodded in understanding. "Alright. Good luck with… whatever it is. We'll see you later."

* * *

><p>Jeff slowed the car down to an easy crawl, eventually pulling over to park. Pointing to the right of the street, he commented, "That was the first house your mother and I lived in."<p>

"It was?"

"Yep. That house held a lot of happy memories for us. Like the day we found out about you. Your mom was ecstatic, but I was downright terrified. The first kick, the belly swelling, the cravings at ridiculous hours of the night, that happened in the brick house over there. You were a very big learning curve for me," Jeff grinned, running a hand through his son's hair, deliberately messing it up. "That was the house you came home to after you were born."

"I thought I was born in a barn. You always told me I was the barn baby." Scott schooled his face in a puzzled frown.

"You were," Jeff confirmed. "Your mom was craving some strawberries, so we visited the strawberry fair and somehow, she ended up in labour, in a barn, and you were born. But that house right there? That was the first home you knew."

Scott was speechless. It seemed that his father intended to drag him down memory lane, in the same way he had done so yesterday. Only this time, Jeff wanted to share pleasant memories.

Motioning with his head that Scott should get out of the car, Jeff unclicked his seatbelt and walked a few hundred feet.

"I proposed to your mom right here, under the palm tree. I never did tell you the story of how I proposed, did I?"

"No, sir, you did not."

Not caring that he would get dirt and bark on his clothes, Jeff leant against the trunk of the tree. Scott followed suit.

"We were walking back from the hospital after our first ultrasound for you. It was one of those days – what do you call them, toasted teacake days? – the ones that are pleasantly warm, without the heat becoming overbearing. Your mom was glowing from the inside out, and after overcoming my initial terror, I was pretty excited, especially after seeing your arms move, watching you suck your thumb and hearing your heartbeat. Your mom and I had a bet going – we had decided not to find out if you were a boy or a girl. She insisted that you were a boy, simply by using the argument that _a mother knows. _I thought you were a girl, trumping her theory by arguing that it was my sperm that determined your gender. If anyone knew, it should have been me. I thought I had been able to break the 'girl-drought' in the Tracy family."

Scott sprang up from his semi-slouched position. "Wait a second. Wait a hot second; you thought I was a girl? What gave you that idea?"

Jeff shrugged. He really didn't know how he had managed to convince himself he could have a girl. "So, your mom and I were strolling along, hand in hand, and she suggests that we stop somewhere for dinner. Conveniently, she had planted herself right outside our favourite restaurant. She didn't feel like cooking that night, and I'm hopeless in the kitchen. I left her outside for a few minutes, while I found out if they had any free tables, and when I came out, there was some other guy trying to take your mother out on a date, regardless of her protests."

Scott sucked in a deep breath. He strongly disliked people who forced themselves onto others, despite their complete and utter disinterest. "What did you do?"

"Well, son, I came back halfway through. Your mother turned to me and said, _Jeff, this man has deemed that he's going to show me the time of my life tonight, unless I got a better offer. Think you can beat that?_"

Scott quirked an eyebrow. "Well, could you?"

Jeff cuffed his son lightly over the head. "What do you think? Anyway, I nodded, placed my hand in my pocket, and I knew I could beat him. I placed my arm possessively around her and told her I could give her a night she would never forget. She, um, she didn't react the way I thought she would. Instead of allowing me to whisk her away from the other person, like her knight in shining armour, she laughed, placed her hand over you and went, _Jefferson, you've already shown me that party trick. Our little guy is pretty unforgettable. You'll need to do one better than that._"

"Dad, are you sure I'm old enough to hear this?"

"Oh, son, you were there; of course you're old enough to hear this," Jeff dismissed with a wave of his hand. Pushing himself off the tree trunk, Jeff moved down the street, with Scott trailing a few steps behind him, heading towards the local bank. "So I gently dragged her to this tree, and I pull the ring box I had been carrying around with me for the past fortnight out from my pocket. I opened it up, and I asked her if I was a better offer. She looked at me, and went _yes, no doubt about it. _It wasn't until she held out her hand so I could slip the ring on her finger, that I realised she was answering my proposal, not my question."

Pausing the tale so he could deal with the next order of affairs, Jeff waited in line at the bank so that he could retrieve the item he was about to pass down onto his son. Gripping the small velvet box that he had withdrawn from his safety box in the bank's vault, Jeff knew that it was time to let go, and pass it on to the next generation of Tracys.

Pulling Scott into a small alcove, away from prying eyes, Jeff pressed the box into Scott's hands. Curiosity got the better of the younger Tracy, and he prised the box open gently. Nestled between two cushions lay a ring, made of white gold with a ruby and diamond inlay. It was simplistic in design, with the smaller diamonds on either side of the square cut ruby, with the stones being set in a slight twist.

"Dad," Scott breathed, knowing he was holding a priceless piece of his legacy in his hands.

"Son, I know how serious you and Tash are. I can see how just how in love you are with each other – it's painfully obvious to those around you. Even a blind man could see it. And when the time is right for both of you, I want you to know that I will accept and support your decision to marry her, if that's what you both want."

"Dad, I can't accept this."

"Yes, you can." Jeff curled his son's hand around the ring. "It's what your mother would have wanted. She would have wanted it passed down to her firstborn son, not left lying in a box. Just do me one favour; keep it safe until you're ready to use it."

Eyes shining with the emotion he couldn't convey with words, Scott eased the small, inconspicuous box into his jeans pocket.

"I know I haven't been the most understanding father during the past few years, but I want you to know that whatever you choose to do in life, I will back you, stand by you and help you when you need it. Scott, you have my word on that count."

He pulled his boy in for a manly hug.

"Dad," Scott mumbled against Jeff's shoulder. "Thanks. For everything."

Pulling back, Jeff regarded his son for a moment. They may not have the same stage of equilibrium that they had before the whole fiasco began, but they were definitely a damn bit closer to re-establishing their connection than they were yesterday.

"Now," Jeff stretched his arms. "How about we head back, before Gordon decides that the only way he can get out of hospital is to sneak out through an open window?"

Scott laughed at the mental image. "Sounds good to me."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. The original characters come from my imagination, and have appeared in some of my other works. I am pretty sure that my imagination belongs to me, unless it runs wild and becomes a law unto itself.**

Chapter Seven

"Will you sit still?" Virgil demanded of Gordon, as the red head's legs kicked Virgil in the back, as Virgil lay across them.

"I'm sorry! I want to get out! I want to play in the sea like a seal!"

Virgil shot a cursory glance at John. John shook his head once again, wearily, feeling suffocated by having to look after the Tracy brood without Scott to help him.

"Sorry, Gordy, our supreme leader deems it impossible for me to help you."

John rolled his cornflower blue eyes. "I would rather you didn't end up in jail for a white collar crime, Virgil. I'm just looking out for you. I mean, you're a juvenile now, but about in the future? No, better not risk it."

The door opened to the room. John was shunted aside from where he was casually leaning against it.

"Hallelujah and praise the Lord!" Gordon raised his arms up in celebration. "Virgil, give him the pen! Dad, sit down and free me! I want to be out of here before lunch!"

Jeff uprooted Alan from the visitor's chair with the nudge of his toe. Alan slouched against the nearest wall.

"You okay?" John asked, recovering and sidling next to his oldest brother.

"I think so, yeah," Scott replied, hand clutching the box in his pocket.

"I need some air," John muttered quietly to Scott, who had wrapped his arm around Tash's shoulders. "Come with? I'll even shout the both of you coffee and cake, which doesn't come from the hospital cafeteria."

Scott nodded his head eagerly. If there was free food, there was no question about it; he was there.

"You're such a freeloader," Tash commented laughingly, knowing what he was thinking. "Mooching off your brothers all the time, yet being completely miserly to them when it's time to return the favour."

"Isn't that why you love me?"

"It's not your most redeeming quality," she snarked as the trio walked out of the room.

As the door closed with a soft click, Jeff looked up, distracted, only to find Virgil boring holes into him with honey-burnt eyes.

"Well? Did you reconcile with Scott?"

Placing the pen down, Jeff gave the question due consideration. "I'm not actually sure. It's not as bad as yesterday, but we're not quite where we need to be."

Virgil narrowed his eyes a fraction of a millimetre. "You _need_ to fix this, Dad. You know you do, as you were in the wrong when you laid into him."

"I'm well aware of that, Virgil," Jeff moderated his tone so that it was authoritative, without being aggressive. "But, you need to understand that the issues raised between your brother and myself cannot be resolved in the space of one day. It will take time, so we all have to be patient with this until that time comes."

Virgil remained impassive. The answer wasn't to his satisfaction, but he knew that was the only answer he would get from his father. It would have to do for now.

* * *

><p>The trio placed their order and slid into one of the few available booths at the restaurant they were in. John sat by his lonesome, while Scott and Tash sat opposite him.<p>

"So," John drawled. "So…"

"So what?" Scott finished the sentence, drumming his fingers on the edge of the table.

"So how was it, really? You seemed a bit dazed when you came back."

Scott rubbed at his eyes. "It was… weird. It wasn't what I thought it would be." With a sideways glance at the auburn haired woman sitting next to him, Scott smiled softly. "It was more about what the future could hold for me."

"And that made your head spin? I mean, you didn't come back as collected and stable as you left," John pointed out, smiling his thanks as his cappuccino and carrot muffin were placed in front of him.

"I'm just tired, John," Scott yawned. "I was up all night. And the night before last, too."

"Wow. That's too much information. Y'know, there are limits to fraternal affection, and as much as I love you as a brother, Scott, I didn't need to know that." John squirmed, belatedly realising that he had been hanging around Gordon for too long. Gordon's ways of thinking and occasional crude comments were wearing off on him. "I don't know if I should be horrified or congratulating you for that feat."

Scott rolled his eyes. Thinking back on his words, he realised he deserved that jibe. He should have made his meaning clearer. Clearing his throat, he clarified the expression of his previous statement. "I was awake for the past two nights, John."

A pause.

"Dad… he told me the story of him and Mom," Scott sighed, slicing his chocolate and fruit flan slice in two and sharing it with Tash. "Right from how they met, to where their first house was, to how they got engaged."

"Spotted the similarities?" John smirked. Knowing his brother as well as he did, John knew that it was probable that Scott had not seen the parallels between the relationship shared between their mother and father, and the relationship Scott was cultivating with the woman sitting beside him.

"Not until it was pointed out to me," Scott admitted, rubbing at his neck with a sheepish grin. With a quick kiss to Tash, he added, "What can I say? I am my father's son, after all."

John interlocked his fingers, rested his chin on the raised ridges of his knuckles, observing the interactions that were traded between his eldest brother and his girlfriend. Scott pulled her closer to him, and she nestled her head between the joint of his neck and shoulder. When he thought no-one was staring at him, he pressed his lips quickly to her forehead, and she smiled up contentedly at him. And finally, John noted, when it came to deciding who got to eat the last mouthful of the flan, they engaged in the classic game of _Rock-Paper-Scissor-Lizard-Spock._ Clearly, their father couldn't have been blind to all of that, and John had a shrewd idea of what went down. He had to confirm it, subtly, though.

"Did he take you to Cocoa Beach?" John asked.

"Yep."

"Did he take you to the bank?" John pressed, knowing he was on the right track.

"Yep."

"And did he give you…"

"Yep," Scott interrupted his brother before he could give too much away.

"And are you…"

"When the time is right."

John smiled once again. "You should do it on your day trip to the Bahamas. It'll make you happy, and that's about as good as you'll get."

"Astute as ever, John," Scott commended, intent on drawing this line of discussion to a close. "But like I said, when the time is right."

From where her head was nestled in the crook of Scott's neck and shoulder, Tash glanced slowly from Scott to John, and back to Scott again. "And this is what I love about listening to conversations between the two of you," she remarked dryly. "You're so open and clear in what you're saying."

"We know," they chuckled simultaneously. Their veiled conversations drove many people nuts, especially when they couldn't decode it. The two Tracy boys preferred it that way; it was free entertainment as they watched eavesdroppers struggle to fathom out their hidden messages.

"Oh, and Scott, when you ask me the question John wants you to ask me, I can tell you that my answer will be the one you want to hear."

Scott pulled back, stunned, daring to dream. "Really?"

"Yes. But only when the time is right, for both of us."

"Told you," John grinned succinctly. "It'll make you both incredibly happy, deservedly so."

Now that his cappuccino was cold enough, John gulped it down and made to move onto devouring his muffin, as though he was a man that hadn't been fed in several months. Of course, to a Tracy teenaged boy, if he hadn't eaten in the past two hours, the feeling was the same. While John munched on his muffin, Scott downed his drink in a few swallows, pulling a face at the bitter, burnt aftertaste.

"Worst coffee I've ever had," he muttered, kicking John under the table. "_Get a double shot espresso_, you said, _this place is known for them. The girl I met at breakfast yesterday recommended this place. Plus, you love strong coffees; it'll be like a perfect match._ Thanks for nothing, Blondie."

"I said known for it; I never said they were good," John disclaimed. "Besides, it'll keep you awake for the rest of the day. And most of the night, too."

Shifting up to straighten her posture, Tash glared at the blond Tracy. "Are you telling me that I'll have to deal with coffee-high him tonight, when all I want to do is sleep? Thanks for nothing, John Tracy!"

Gulping at the ferocity of her glare, John asked for the check to serve as a distraction.

"Don't worry," Scott whispered in her ear. "Revenge will be sweet."

It took a few moments for John's brain to kick into gear, as he was frozen, staring at the total he had to pay for three cups of coffee and two slices of food.

"Scott!" he finally managed, sounding incredibly strangled. "Why would you order the two most expensive items on the menu, short of a meal? Why would you do that to me?"

Scott shrugged. The answer seemed obvious. "Because it comes out of your pocket, not mine, and I like getting free meals. Now, cough up, and let's go. Gordon should be discharged by now, and Dad'll probably be tearing his hair out at having to deal with three Tracys at once."

"I'm kissing my month's spending money goodbye," John complained, throwing the appropriate number of bills down to cover the cost. "You complete and utter ass."

Scott laughed as they headed to meet the rest of the Tracy bunch. "And don't I know it."

* * *

><p>The first thing Gordon wanted to do once he had been released from the care of the hospital was to head to the open ocean, and dive head first into the clear, blue waters. Unfortunately, his father had deemed that it would over-exert him, and following the doctor's orders to a T, Jeff had poured cold water on that wish. Instead, Gordon had to settle for a family trip to The International Swimming Hall of Fame. It may not have been as exciting as feeling the water ripple through his hair, or having the opportunity to splash around gracefully like a baby dolphin, but Gordon had to admit that this came in a close second.<p>

Nibbling on his lip, Gordon stared at the Hall of Fame listing for achievement in aquatic sports. "Hey, Dad," Gordon stated categorically. "I'm gonna get my name there, someday. Butterfly, probably. Maybe freestyle too. Not backstroke; I hate backstroke."

Jeff nodded in agreement. He had no doubts about that. Gordon, surprisingly, was incredibly persistent. The term 'giving up' wasn't in his vocabulary, and he didn't understand the meaning of it. Gordon would keep at a particular task, especially if he enjoyed it, until it was physically impossible for him to continue. Even then, he would take a short break and return to his task at a later time.

Alan couldn't quite stifle his laughter. "Yeah, right, Gordon. Dream on! Only the all-star heroes make it there."

Jeff shot his youngest son a quelling glare, and Virgil cuffed him upside the head.

"It's okay, Gordy, I know you'll get there. I believe you can do it, even if no one else does. Since when has a Tracy pulled out or given up?" Virgil flashed his eyes angrily at Alan. If looks could kill, Alan would have been lying on the floor, with a chalk outline around his body.

"Thank you, Virgil. It's nice to know _someone_ has faith in me," Gordon replied pointedly.

"Hey, the three of us, we have faith in you too," John added, strolling in casually.

"Yeah, you'll get your name up there, Gordo," Scott agreed. "No question about it."

"Oh yeah?" Alan asked aggressively. "What makes you so sure that'll happen?"

"Because Gordon is like an Energizer bunny," Scott explained with a patient air, as though he was teaching Alan that 1+1=2. "He just keeps on going until he's dead."

Gordon turned away from the plaque to face his brother. "That's the sweetest thing you've ever said about me, Scott."

"I know. Now let's never talk about this moment ever again."

Meanwhile, Jeff had a few questions of his own to ask, as did John. Standing in a secluded corner, the duo conversed in hushed tones.

"How'd you three find us, John?"

"Virgil sent a message through to us. Dad, I know what you gave Scott today."

"He told you?" Jeff was astounded. He thought that the moment he had shared with Scott would remain between them. It appeared that he didn't know his eldest son as well as he thought he did.

John rolled his eyes and raked a hand through his hair. "Please, Dad, give my deductive reasoning skills _some_ credit."

"Sorry, John," Jeff apologised.

"You did the right thing, Dad. It won't change what's been said, but it will speed up the recovery process. He knows how hard it was for you to relinquish Mom's ring to him."

With a tilt of his head, Jeff wondered how much his blond enigma of a son knew. "Did he mention if he would use it in the near future?"

"Only when the timing's right. As it should be," John pointed out. "I suggested using on their day trip to the Bahamas, since they're going in two days, but Scott reiterated that he would only be using it when the time was right."

"And when's that?" Jeff pressed. The thought that he was questioning the wrong son flitted through his mind briefly, but he didn't give it second consideration.

"When the timing is right for both of them," John repeated. "Look, Dad, don't push the matter with him. You'll know when they want you to know, as we all will."

Jeff glanced around. The rest of his troop was nowhere to be seen. He could only assume that they had moved on to another part of the complex. "Hey, John, why don't we find your brothers, huh?"

"Sounds like a plan, Dad."

A moment of silence as they walked along.

"Y'know, this is what our holiday should have been like," John commented mildly. "Just spending time with each other."

Jeff couldn't agree more, and he clapped John over the shoulder in affirmation. With his four-day business conference drawing to a close, he intended to maximise the amount of time he spent with his boys for what was left of their holiday, the way it should have been from the beginning.


End file.
